


The Virgins of New Orleans

by TheLadyBath



Category: Agent Pendergast Series - Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2018-04-18 08:34:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 23,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4699337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyBath/pseuds/TheLadyBath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A gruesome murder spree brings Agent Pendergast home to New Orleans in search of a serial killer. Soon the partner with whom he is forced to work, begins to arouse feelings in him that he thought long dead. As danger closes in on them, will they be able to protect each other long enough for their heads to admit what their hearts know? OC Pairing. A little AU. Post Helen Trilogy</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

FBI Agent Aloysius Pendergast sat in the arm chair across the desk from his boss, Deputy Director William Grady. His black suit was immaculate as always, his arms were in his lap revealing just hints of snowy white cuffs and the Italian shoes shone to perfection. With his legs crossed and his body deep in the comfortable chair, Pendergast looked to be the epitome of relaxation. Until one looked closer.

The fingertips of the steepled hands were white from being pressed together with some pressure and the toes in the beautifully polished right shoe flexed and pointed slightly in time with the conversation. Something was not sitting right with Agent Pendergast. The state of affairs in which he currently found himself would not do; they would not do at all.

"Director Grady," Pendergast started out, his rich, smooth voice calm and reasonable. "I understand and appreciate your position, but I have never worked with a partner and I see no reason to start now. I admit that in a few instances I have sought assistance from Detective D'agosta of the New York Police Department, but I assure you that these were the exceptions rather than the rule. I am much more efficacious working alone."

Grady, a seasoned veteran, with 35 years at the FBI sat behind his massive desk and looked at one of his best field agents. The man had a point, but he would be damned if his commands, his direct orders, were countermanded. By anyone. Anyone including Agent Pendergast.

"I get it, Pendergast, I do," Grady sighed. "But this case demands a set of skills that are not at the core of what you do. You need a good Profiler and Agent Devereaux is the best we got. This case is a strange one and even though its on your home turf in New Orleans, I think you are going to be needing those resources." Grady continued to look into Pendergast's pale blue eyes. After what seemed like an eternity, Grady spoke up again. "I trust that there are no more questions, Agent Pendergast?"

Pendergast did not flinch, nor did he break eye contact. "No, Director Grady. There are no more questions."

"Good. Its settled then." Pendergast's eyes narrowed just slightly, but he said nothing.

Grady, reached for his phone. "Margie," he spoke into the receiver, "Please send her in."


	2. Chapter 2

Pendergast would have risen when any woman entered the room – that is how he was raised. However, had he not been trained to be a gentleman, sheer surprise would have most likely brought him to his feet; the woman who walked through the door was truly striking.

It was as if Pendergast forgot his Southern upbringing and the proscription to never stare, as he looked intently at the young woman. She was petite - probably just slightly over five feet tall to Pendergast's six foot-plus frame. Her skin was a clear and fair, although instead of the pallid whiteness of Pendergast's own complexion, hers had a glow of gold, hinting at the ethnic mix in her background. Her hair, currently contained in neat chignon was so black as to reflect a blue tinge and appeared to be thick and glossy. Pendergast was disconcerted to note that he was wondering how it would feel to have his fingers tangled in that hair which triggered other, even more disconcerting sensations which he quashed with some difficulty.

But it was her eyes that held him mesmerized. They were a deep, sea green with flecks of liquid amber. They looked at Pendergast with open curiosity and he realized that although her eyes were not at all similar in appearance, the open frankness of her gaze and the humor and intelligence that seemed to dance in her eyes reminded him of…. Pendergast exerted his will and ruthlessly clamped down on those thoughts as he pulled his gaze away from her, focusing instead on Grady.

As if in response to Pendergast's motion, Deputy Director Grady also rose. He extended his hand to the young woman who walked through the door and briskly made her way to the desk. She shook hands with the director and then turned her attention to Pendergast. "Agent Aloysius Pendergast," Grady said, "meet Agent Amy Devereaux. Agent Devereaux is one of our top profilers and has been instrumental in resolving several cases over the last few years."

Pendergast extended a hand to Amy who took it in a surprisingly strong grip although Pendergast's hand completely swallowed hers. "I am very pleased to meet you, Agent Devereaux," Pendergast said using his most honeyed tone.

The other agent looked up at Pendergast, her green eyes meeting his icy pale blue ones. Was there a hint of amusement lurking there now? "Agent Pendergast," she said. Her voice was lower than he would have expected and had an odd accent that sounded familiar, but that he was not able to place. "If we are to work together, the first thing is to please avoid lying to me. You are anything, but pleased to have me here and for that I am sorry as I am personally looking forward to working with you. I have heard a great deal about you and your," she paused, searching for the correct word, "uncanny ability to solve cases."

The very touch of her hand sent a shock through his body and caused a stirring of feelings and emotions that he thought were long dead and buried, but Pendergast merely permitted himself an infinitesimal smile and an inclination of his head in acknowledgement of Amy's claim. "My apologies, Agent Devereaux, It is merely that I am unused to working with somebody else, but I am certain that we will come to an accommodation that will suit us both."

During this entire exchange, Amy had been looking at Pendergast and praying that he would not hear how loudly her heart was beating – it seemed that it would beat a hole through her ribcage. There was something about Pendergast that set off every alarm in her brain and yet she felt her body reacting in a way that made her feel every inch the awkward school girl with her first crush. "Get a grip, girl," she scolded. You are an FBI agent and a damn fine one at that. Stop acting like a teenager with raging hormones. And yet, even as she berated herself, it took every ounce of her will to keep her knees from going weak as the tall, blond man gazed at her with his inscrutable silver eyes.

Although to the two agents this exchange seemed to take forever, it was only a few seconds and Grady, oblivious to the charged atmosphere, spoke and broke the spell. "Agent Devereaux can brief you on what we know about the case. Sit down, both of you. What have you got for us, Agent?" He looked at Amy who took a deep breath, opened the file folder she had been carrying and began.

"Unfortunately, we do not know all that much yet," Amy started, "as we have just been notified by the local authorities that there may be a serial killer. To date, we believe there have been four victims. All women, all in their mid-twenties to mid-thirties and all from what appear to be upper middle class backgrounds. They seem to be taken on or around the first of the month. All four women have been found dead within two weeks, although the time has varied from seven days to twelve days so we are not yet sure if there is any importance to the interval. The fourth victim was found yesterday. There was some visible trauma, bruises and the like that appear to be peri-mortem, but COD is not obvious yet. All four women were found wrapped in white sheets as if in shrouds and had a small pendant around their neck." Amy showed Grady and Pendergast a photograph of a small circular pendant with the picture of a stylized bird.

"Our labs received all the information on all four victims as well as the body of victim number four yesterday and are doing a full work up. I should have some preliminary data within 24 hours. It is the thirteenth of the month, so we have about seventeen days to prevent the next murder, "Amy said looking at Pendergast.

"Any insights into the killer yet, Agent Devereaux,"Pendergast asked, his voice carrying the merest suggestion of a sneer...

"Very preliminary. Above average intelligence which is par for the course for serial killers. My thought is that he is on the outer range of age – maybe forty to fifty rather than the usual twenty to thirty five. There is no indication of any sexual abuse and what seems like great respect for the bodies so there is a great deal of self-control which usually comes with age. Also and here Amy paused momentarily, "Also, what is strange is that this is not a masculine crime. There is something in the care taken that implies female involvement, although instances of female serial killers are exceedingly rare." Amy took a breath. "I should have more for you within the next day or so."

Pendergast nodded, his lips set in a thin line. "So what you have is supposition and guess work."

"What I have," corrected Amy, bristling at the tone, "Are some educated assumptions based on the very limited information that I have to date. Please rest assured that I will be updating these assumptions as we collect more information."

"Of course," was Pendergast's noncommittal reply. "Deputy Director, given the timing, I recommend that Agent Devereaux and I make our way to New Orleans as quickly as possible. As always, I am happy to augment the travel budget out of my personal funds to ensure…"

"Yes, yes," Grady interrupted. "I know how you like to travel. Do what you need to do, just get the Son of a Bitch, before another woman is killed."

Pendergast looked over at Amy. "I will have a car to pick you up and take you to the airport in two hours. I trust this will be sufficient time for you to prepare what you need for the trip."

"Good luck," Grady said, indicating to both Amy and Pendergast that the discussion was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. What do you think of Agent Amy Devereaux? I promise there is much more to her still to discover, but I hope you like her as much as Agent Pendergast seems to - although he is not yet willing to admit it. Your thoughts and reviews are always gratefully welcomed. Thank you for taking the time to read.


	3. Chapter 3

Amy threw her toiletries bag into her suitcase with a swear word and knelt on top of the bag in order to close it.

"Arrogant Son of a Bitch," she continued the litany under her breath, as she carried her bag to the hallway of her apartment. "Two hours", she grumbled. "Imperious, Bastard." And yet, she had gotten home and rushed to pack the bag so that she would be ready when the car came.

Amy did not mean to stop and look in the mirror. She did not mean to brush her hair and adjust her shirt, but she found herself doing it. Normally, she would have changed for a flight, opting for comfortable jeans and flats, but somehow, she could not bring herself to change out of her suit and high-heeled shoes when she knew she would be traveling with Pendergast. She did not want to look like a poor relation next to him and his expensive Italian suit.

Amy snorted and checked her watch. Two minutes to go. She actually managed to get ready and now can relax until...she heard the buzzer indicating that somebody downstairs was seeking entry. She checked the monitor and saw an elderly man in a dark suit. He must be the driver. She pushed the button to open the downstairs door and went to unlock the door to her apartment. A few moments later, there was a discrete knock on her door. She opened the door.

The man bowed slightly and in a cultured voice said, "Miss. I am Proctor. If you are ready, the car is downstairs."

"I am ready," Amy said and reached for her suitcase and purse. For an older man, this Proctor moved fairly quickly as he deftly managed to take the suitcase right out from under her grasping hand. He held the door open for Amy letting her precede him out and then waiting while she locked the door.

Amy was expecting the usual black sedan. What she saw literally took her breath away and she gaped for a moment before getting herself back under control.

"Good God," she breathed as she saw the large car. She only needed to see the Winged Lady hood ornament to know what she was looking it.

"It is a Silver Wraith." Amy started as she had not been prepared to hear the slightly mocking and yet cultured tones of Pendergast. He had leaned his head out of the window and was looking at Amy even as she stared at the car. Proctor had put her suitcase in the trunk and opened the door for her. Amy slid in, taking care to sit as far away from Pendergast as she could. Some part of her felt a minor tingle of triumph as she noted that Pendergast had not changed out of his suit.

"Agent Devereaux," Pendergast, acknowledged.

"Agent Pendergast," Amy replied as the car pulled away from the curve with a quiet purr of power that she felt more than heard.

Pendergast sat relaxed in the seat with his eyes closed. Amy did not know if he was sleeping, but it was clear that he did not want to talk so she contented herself with watching the scenery slip by as Proctor guided the car across the bridge and toward La Guardia Airport. She also watched the man. God, but he was handsome. His skin was pale, but not the white of an albino and his blond hair was so fair as to be almost silver. His coloring was made even starker by the complete blackness of his suit. His large, yet finely boned hands were lying quietly in his lap and Amy found herself wondering how they would feel against her bare skin...Amy jerked herself out of her reverie feeling a flush creep up her checks. She shook her head to clear it and went back to looking out of the window in an effort to hide her embarrassment.

And yet, she could not keep her eyes off Pendergast. Even as he sat there, motionless and completely relaxed, she saw the raw strength and power in his body. Like a coiled snake, she sensed a ruthlessness and a lethality in the man that was completely belied by his cultured and genteel demeanor. If she was entirely honest with herself, Pendergast scared her, and yet she found herself drawn to him as she had never been drawn to another man. As before, she quashed this line of thought; she was not one to wallow in pointless romanticism or yearn for those things that she could not have.

Amy was not paying attention and only realized with a shock that while they had reached the airport, Proctor was not taking any of the exits that would take him to the terminals. She bit her tongue so that she would not give Pendergast the satisfaction of her question. In another few minutes, Proctor stopped the car and Amy realized that they were parked in front of a Lear Jet and that its engines were already beginning to rev up.

Proctor opened the passenger door and Pendergast slipped out first before she even had the chance. Instead of walking away, however, he turned back to the open door and reached his hand in to help her out. This old fashioned and totally unexpected move, took her breath away. Without even thinking, she put her hand in his and let him help her out. She risked a glance at those pale blue eyes. What did she see in their depth? Amusement? Contempt? She tore her eyes away quickly, again feeling the warmth on her cheeks.

Proctor had the luggage and was loading it into the cargo hold and Amy followed Pendergast up the stairs and into the body of the plane. Still not speaking, Pendergast sat in one of the chairs and buckled the seatbelt. Amy thought it best to follow suit as the plane began to taxi.

Once airborne, a flight attendant quietly entered bringing a steaming cup on a tray for Pendergast. By the somewhat grassy, herbal smell, Amy guessed it to be green tea. The attendant turned to Amy and smiling asked her if she would like something to eat or drink. Amy just ordered a cup of coffee. Pendergast just looked out of the window sipping his tea.

Taking a deep breath, Amy pulled out her iPad and her files. "I have some thoughts on the victimology that may help identify how the killer or killers are picking the targets," she said hoping to start a conversation with Pendergast. Ever so slowly, the man turned his head and focused his eyes on her. Amy stifled her desire to look away and met his eyes.

"At this time, I think I would prefer to wait for some real information rather than engage in conjecture," Pendergast's voice was cold and made it very clear that he was not open to any further discussion on the topic. Not willing to show how much his response irritated her; Amy shrugged and bent her head over her tablet and notes while Pendergast studied the younger woman unobtrusively through half closed eyes.

He saw the graceful curve of her neck as she was leaning over her work. He saw that she was chewing her lip in her concentration. Some strands of dark hair had come loose from her knot and were curling along her cheeks. Pendergast's fingers literally itched to reach out and sweep the tendrils away. He wondered idly if her skin was as soft and smooth as it looked. As if realizing that somebody was looking at her, Amy looked up from her work, but all she saw was the back of Pendergast's head.

The plane landed Louis Armstrong International Airport after about three and a half hours of flight. Another Silver Wraith was waiting. Another older man, Pendergast said that his name was Maurice, loaded the suitcases into the trunk even as Pendergast handed Amy into the car.

A short drive brought them to the front gates of an old manor house - it was everything a New Orleans house should be complete with moss and Weeping Willows. "This is my home, Penumbra," Pendergast said in response to a questioning look from Amy. Amy, double checked that her mouth was shut so that she was not gaping like a yokel at the venerable old house.

Pendergast allowed Amy to precede him into the house. "Maurice will show you to your room. Please let him know if there is anything that you require." There was a definite tone of dismissal in his voice.

"Thank you," Amy said. "When would you like to start?"

"I will be starting immediately, Agent Devereaux," Pendergast replied calmly. "I will let you know if I require assistance."

"Pendergast!" The one word rang out like a shot causing the agent to stop and turn to look down at the woman who was gazing up at him with eyes blazing. He could not help notice that she was perhaps even lovelier with the color that had risen into her cheeks and what he could only describe as a dangerous glint in her emerald eyes.

"I understand that you do not like me very much, but you do not get to leave me behind. This investigation is as much mine as it yours." Her voice was calm, but her anger was apparent.

Amy took a deep breath. "We both know that I cannot make you do something you do not wish to do. I proposed a solution. I understand that you have no faith in my skills. Give me a chance to prove them. I will tell you some things about you - things that are not included in your, rather slim, dossier that the FBI has. If I am right, you buy me the fanciest dinner New Orleans has to offer and let me be your partner on this case. If I am wrong, I will be on the first commercial flight back to New York and will trouble you no longer.

Pendergast considered the offer. "And if I lie and say you are wrong when you are not?" He asked.

"You won't lie about this. Its not in your nature." Amy's voice carried complete and total certainty and she permitted a slight smile to cross her lips as she registered the slight widening of his eyes at her words. She knew she was right; her first attempt at profiling Pendergast had been successful.

Pendergast nodded. "Very well. I accept the terms." He settled into an arm chair and indicated that Amy should take the one across from him. "Shall we begin?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amy may be playing a dangerous game. What type of insights does she have about Pendergast and how will he react when faced with some truths about him? I hope you are enjoying this and that this still reads true. Would so very much appreciate your thoughts, recommendations and reviews. Thank you for taking the time.


	4. Chapter 4

Amy took a deep breath and settled into the opposing chair. She kept a tight control over her own features not wanting to give anything away. She looked over Pendergast. He appeared relaxed, but there was a tightness in his face and his back was rigid as he waited for her to begin.

"OK," said Amy. "Let's start with something fairly simple. You were in the military. Definitely not the Navy as you lack the gait that sailors get and never seem to lose. Not the Air Force – you seem too inclined to physical encounters. I would hazard a guess that it was the Army and furthermore that you were not a run of the mill soldier, but part of an elite unit; an Army Ranger, perhaps." Did amy see a slight narrowing of the eyes? She was on to something, she was sure of it and she pressed her advantage.

"You naturally stand at "parade rest". A wealthy scion of a wealthy family has a much more indolent way of carrying himself. Your wealth would have given you opportunities to give orders, but you do more than order people around. You know how to command; there is an air about you that makes people want to obey - this too is learned in Officer Training School." Amy looked at Pendergast and cracked a smile. "I would even wager that you have a tattoo commemorating your service. Somewhere where iit would not visible under normal circumstances; a bicep perhaps or between the shoulder blades." When she realized that Pendergast would not comment, Amy went on.

"You have created an entire persona for yourself. You are successful because you are great at misdirection. People think that you are a weakling; a rich boy not used to action. You cultivate this as carefully as people grow orchids." A steepling of the fingers was Pendergast's only response.

"Looking at you, I estimate you to be about six feet and 3 inches and you weight about 180 pounds. You have kept fit and you are strong. However, your height and the fact that you wear only black gives the illusion that you are much slighter and, hence, not nearly as strong as I guess you to be.. I would suspect this is a useful tool when you need to move unobserved or when you need to intimidate a suspect. I think you can be quite lethal even without your Les Baer."

Did she notice Pendergast's eye flick? Was that a flinch? His movements were incredibly controlled, but there were still "tells".

"Shall I continue? Very well. You are a widower. You have been one for a while." The look of shock and pain on Pendergast's face stopped her for a moment, but she was committed now, so she went on. "You do not have a wedding ring, yet you still look at your hand as if checking for it. Your hand has no tan marks which tells me that she has been dead...," Amy never had the chance to finish her thought.

"That will be quite enough," Pendergast's voice was cold as ice and just above a whisper. Chills ran down Amy's spine. For the first time she was actually frightened of him. "I do not know how you knew what you purport to know, but I will not listen to anymore. Instead, let me tell you about you. I am not a Profiler," he filled that one work with scorn and hatred, "but let me see what I can deduce about you, Agent Devereaux."

Eyes blazing with a cold, even cruel, light, Pendergast stood up and walked over to look into Amy's eyes. He began in a dangerous whisper that dripped with disdain. "You are from Louisiana, although you have tried to hide your accent. I suspect that you are what is commonly known as "new money," he spat those words as if they were a curse. "Your mother and father had your life arranged; they had even selected a suitable, wealthy doctor or lawyer for you to marry, but you decided to be a rebel and ran away to make your way in the big bad world, although you still have your trust fund which you frequently access. This is a passing fancy for you; a diversion until you find something better." Pendergast stopped speaking, his chest rising and falling with emotion as he continued to look at Amy.

Amy for her part was completely transfixed. Her eyes had filled with tears as the pain of the past she had longed to leave behind came rushing back to her. With supreme effort, she regained control; she would be damned if she would let Pendergast see her cry.

"Alright, Agent Pendergast," she said very quietly. "Lets take each of your assertions in turn. You are right, I am from Louisiana. I was born in a village called Bayou Gauche - population about seven hundred, not including the gators. I am the second oldest of seven childring and my full name is Ameline. I don't know who my Daddy was and I doubt my Mama did either. The only new money that we ever saw was what Mama got from the government." Her voice had gained strength and vehemence as she spoke. The force of it and her raw emotions were enough to push Pendergast away. He no longer lowered over her, but stepped back to eventually assume his seat in the armchair.

"Shall I tell you the rest, Agent Pendergast?" Her voice now assumed the full depth of the low country accent and was as hard and cold as his had been. This was not a story she liked to tell, but for some reason, she felt compelled to tell it all to him.

"My most current step daddy, had a friend. And he gave me to him. I was fifteen. That drunk bastard wanted only one thing – what it was, I leave to your imagination. As long as I obliged, he let me go to school. Until one day, he got really drunk and decided that I'd had enough schooling. He would not let me go that morning and when I argued, he gave me this." Amy raised her shirt and showed Pendergast a puckered scar that ran across her abdomen from the right side of her ribcage to the left. Pendergast's eyes opened wide in shock.

"How? What?" He whispered.

"He used his gator knife on me. Split me open. I had to hold on to my insides." Amy was amazed at just how flat and emotionless her voice could be.

"What happened," whispered Pendergast, his voice oddly soft and gentle now he almost reached out to touch the scar, but stopped his hand and Amy lowered her shirt, tucking it back into her skirt.

"I shot the Son of a Bitch with his own rifle. It was the last thing I remember. My sister found me the next day. I was almost dead and it's a miracle that I did not die for either the blood loss or the infection. But after three months in the hospital, I ran. I ran as far away from Louisiana as I could. I ran to New England. I lied about my age, got a job, got a GED. I watched the wealthy people who came into the store where I worked and I learned to imitate them. The better I imitated them, the more doors opened to me. I got into college and then graduate school in Psychology and Anthropology." She took a deep breath. She could not believe how much she had told him. She was embarrassed and she was angry that he had made her open up as much as she had. She was done. She would say no more...except one little thing.

She closed her eyes for a moment to try to regain some sense of control. "Agent Pendergast. It is clear that this will never work. I will be on the next flight back to New York. In the meantime, I hope you will excuse me. I think I would like to rest, if Maurice can show me to a room I may use for a little while, I would be very grateful," Pendergast noticed that her voice had resumed that odd lilt - the combination of her Cajun accent and the genteel New England overlay.

Her back straight, the young woman, followed the elderly servant up the creaking stairs. It was not until the door to the guest bedroom had shut that she leaned up against a wall and wept.

Pendergast watched Amy climb the stairs. His emotions were a mix. He knew he had been cruel and he hated himself for the loss of control as much as for the pain that he had obviously inflicted on the young woman. She had hit a nerve - several nerves, in point of fact, and he lashed out at her. He knew that most everything he had sais was wrong and, in that moment, he had not cared. His only intent was to hurt her as she had hurt him. He had been viciously, unforgivably cruel for no reason other than she had been right. She had not deserved to be hurt like that and he knew that he had hurt her deeply. He also admired her strength. She had fought off her attacker and she had fought for her life, survived and not only succeeded, but thrived. This young woman was much more remarkable then he had given her credit for; there could be worse people with whom to partner.

Pendergast sighed. He knew had to make amends; not only because he knew that he needed her skills, but because he was truly sorry for his actions. He knew he was in the wrong and Noblesse Oblige would not let him do anything less. He reached for his cell phone and dialed a well-remembered number. "Madame Angelique? Yes. This is Aloysius Pendergast. Yes. It has been quite a while. I need to make a purchase. Would you be able to have it delivered to Penumbra? Splendid. What I require is..."


	5. Chapter 5

Amy had thought that she had expended all her tears crying about the past, but she was wrong. Sitting on the floor in the guest room at Penumbra, Amy cried until she had no more tears left. She was actually surprised that after all this time her past could still cause her so much pain. "Damn you, Pendergast," she swore. She was angry with Pendergast, but furious with herself with herself for letting him get under her skin. How did that happen, she wondered. It was not as if he had won her over with his charm. He was aloof and arrogant at best and cruel and sadistic at worst. And yet, she recalled the very real compassion in his eyes and the gentleness in his voice when she was recounting what had happened to her. Did the man actually have a heart behind those odd silver-blue eyes?

If Amy was completely honest with herself, she had known she was in dangerous waters when she mentioned Pendergast's wife. She saw his reaction and could read his body language as easily as other people read a book. She saw the warning signs and should have stopped. She had caused him pain just because she wanted to prove a point. She had proved it, she knew, but it had gotten her nowhere. She had hurt him and he lashed out with an intensity that she had not seen in anybody in a very long time. What was it about what she had said, that cause the outburst? She knew nothing about his wife or what had happened, but obviously it was the cause of much pain; pain which she had helped exacerbate.

Pendergast intrigued her – she had to admit that. Handsome and mysterious, he was able to cause her heart to skip a beat and butterflies to flutter in the pit of her stomach whenever he looked at her. His record for solving odd cases was practically legendary. That she would be selected to work with a leading field agent like him said a great deal about her own capabilities and promised good things for her career. Now having met him, Amy was more confused than ever about the man and her feelings. While she understood, at least to some extent, the sadness she saw in Pendergast's eyes, she did not understand the deep, almost unbearable pain that she also saw there. She mulled over her interactions with Pendergast over the last twelve hours and several other questions came to her mind. Why did he look at her with such raw longing when he thought she was not looking? Why had cared about her past after he had so cruelly mocked it? And, most importantly, why could she not stop thinking about him and how it had felt when he had taken her hand to help her out of the car?

Amy pulled herself out of her reverie; if she had the ability to daydream, she had clearly cried herself out and needed to deal with the issue at hand: she needed and wanted to get away from Penumbra and New Orleans as quickly as possible. She reached for her tablet and phone.

An hour later, Amy rubbed her eyes and tried to stretch. She was stiff and the motion elicited a groan of discomfort. She had been entirely unsuccessful in finding a flight; it was simply too late in the day. The earliest that was available was for noon the following day; whether she liked it or not, Amy would need to impose on Pendergast's hospitality for one night. She cringed at the thought of needing to depend on Pendergast for anything, but she stood up and was preparing to head out in search of Maurice, when she heard a diffident knock on her door.

Surprised, she called out, "Yes. Come in."

The door slowly opened to reveal Maurice pushing a small two tier trolley. On the top tier on a small tray stood a crystal glass with an amber liquid –sherry – Amy suspected. On the bottom tier was a large box with an ornate, black satin bow. The box and the bow both bore the name of one of the most expensive and exclusive boutiques in town.

"May I come in, Miss?" Maurice asked diffidently, even though Amy had already opened the door and stepped aside to let the man in.

"Please do," Amy replied. The entire conversation seemed vaguely surreal.

"A small token of esteem from Master Aloysius," Maurice said with an entirely straight face as he handed the large box to Amy. "And this," he said as he lifted the glass and gently placed it on the table, "is a lovely little Amontillado Sherry from Master Aloysius's wine cellar. I thought that you might appreciate some light refreshment." Amy was not sure, but she thought that she detected the slightest gleam of amusement in the man's eyes.

"Thank you, Maurice," was all she said as the man left and she closed the door behind him.

Amy reached for the sherry and took a sip savoring as the rich liquid ran down her throat leaving a warm trail in its wake. She had to admit that it did help calm and soothe her rattled and frazzled nerves. Now for the box that sat so temptingly on the table where Maurice had placed it. She now walked toward it. The name alone was enough to make her heart beat a little faster. The type of money that one had to have to even cross the threshold of the establishment was legendary. In her entire career with the FBI, she would not make enough to be considered a worthy customer.

As curious as she was about what was in the box, the fact that it was from Pendergast, made her hesitate to open it. Did the man really think he could buy her? In fact, her first instinct was to ignore it or to have Maurice bring it right back to her erstwhile host, but even as she was thinking about that possibility, her hands had already reached for the satin ribbon. What would it hurt to look, she thought.

She lifted the lid from the box and could not suppress a small sigh of pleasure as it revealed pink tissue paper on which lay one perfect, fragrant Magnolia. Amy lifted the flower out, inhaled its rich fragrance, and placed it in a glass of water that happened to be standing on the desk. An item that had been hidden by the flower then caught her eye; an envelope with her name, "Ameline", written on it in a beautiful, formal script.

Amy studied the envelope as if it was a piece of evidence. It was an expensive paper made from cloth. The rich cream color was classic and elegant and the embossing could be nothing other than the Pendergast family crest. Wondering what Pendergast had to say to her that required something as old fashioned, and, she had to smile to herself, charming, as a hand-written note. She opened the envelope, took out a sheet of paper of the same cream hue and began to read the note.

"My Dear Ameline," the note opened. "First pray forgive me for being so informal, but I find that if one is in a position to ask, or shall I say, beg, for forgiveness, the formalities of titles such as "Agent" are superfluous at best. Therefore, again, I start with, My Dear Ameline; I beg that you would forgive my horrendous behaviour this afternoon. While I can claim any of a number of reasons for my loss of control, none of them justify my treatment of you. The truth is that your statements were correct on all counts that matter and your only fault was to tell me things that I did not wish to hear. My response was that of a coward and boor.

"I would very much like to demonstrate to you that I am, in fact, both a gentleman and a man of my word, it would be my honor as well as distinct pleasure to take you to dinner at Antoine's; I have made reservations for the late seating at 8:30 this evening. I have also taken the liberty of acquiring a small gift for you. It would bring me great pleasure if you were to wear it tonight, but I will completely understand if you do not choose to do so.

"I shall await you at 7:45 tonight as our car will be ready at 8. Again, I beg your forgiveness and hope to see you this evening so that we can have an opportunity to restart our acquaintance and to discuss our future partnership.

"Your humble servant,

"Aloysius XL Pendergast"

Amy re-read the note several times. It was so old fashioned and courtly. She was not used to receiving apologies and did not really know what to do. She was still furious at him for the hateful things that he had said and the painful past memories that he had stirred up. But she also knew that she had pushed him much harder than she should have just to show off what she could do. She found that she wanted to forgive him and wished that the entire encounter could be simply forgotten. But her training and her cynical nature still challenged her heart. Could Pendergast really mean it? Could he now see some value in what she did? She also seemed to sense an undercurrent in the letter that made her pulse quicken and her heart beat a little faster as she reached into the box and gently pulled back the scented tissue paper.


	6. Chapter 6

Pendergast looked in the mirror of his dressing room. He had changed from his usual black suit into a tuxedo; Antoine's took their dress code very seriously. He was not putting in the onyx studs into his formal shirt. A few deft moves and the matching onyx cuff links were in the French cuffs. Pendergast eschewed the bow tie in favor of a formal, black tie, which he quickly put on and tied into a complicated Windsor knot. A final touch was the Vacheron Constantin Chronometre Royal that had belonged to his grandfather. Pendergast hated the thing with a passion, but when one went to Antoine's, one needed to look the part and a small demonstration of the "Pendergast Fortune" was expected.

He quickly glanced around the room which was part of the Master Suite which was the only part of the Punumbra that had been renovated into a modern comfortable style. The colors were various shades of gray from a dark charcoal to a very light silver blue along with Cream varying from an almost white to a rich pale gold. It had been done before his marriage to Helen. His original goal was to renovate the entire plantation to keep the "charm"...Pendergast grimaced at that word while making it more modern and comfortable. He had never gotten the chance. Given the history of these rooms, he really should have hated this part of the house, but it was still his sanctuary when he was in New Orleans.

He checked his watch. It was 7 o'clock; he had time before he needed to be downstairs to meet Amy – that is if she was even going to come. Pendergast went over to the seating area where Maurice had unobtrusively placed a glass of sherry and sat down in one of the wing back chairs.

Pendergast closed his eyes and watched his last interaction with Amy replay behind his eyelids. As a field agent, he had always harbored a dislike and mistrust of Profilers; they were not real agents and they did not bring value to a case...did they? The fact that Amy knew so much about him after spending only a few hours with him both impressed and unnerved him. There was no way she could have known these things; they were not in his Curriculum Vitae at the FBI and they shared no friends in common who would have told her about his past life. No. She had determined the truth through her own observations and skill. And she did have skill. Pendergast found his view of profilers, or at least one specific profiler, rapidly evolving.

It was only after Amy mentioned his dead wife that everything changed. Pendergast could not forget the stricken look on Ameline's face during his tirade. He saw her beautiful green eyes cloud with tears. He could not forgive his own loss of control even though he knew its cause. He had loved Helen with his entire heart and when he lost her, his life stopped. For all intents and purposes, his life had ended the day she had died and he had mourned her for more than ten years. Then she appeared to have risen from the dead, but she was not at all the woman whom he had loved. He had learned how she had used him and their children in the most horrific of ways. When she died in his arms, he knew that he no longer loved her – he could not love the monstrous lie that she had been.

But his pain continued unabated. Her return and subsequent death opened up all the old wounds. His brain might know what she had been, his heart still ached each time he thought of her. Had he not heard it beat at his Bureau mandated physical, he would have been able to believe that his heart had shattered in a million pieces so great was his renewed pain. Everything had been made fresh again; although he rationally knew that their life had been a lie, he still grieved for the memories. and for the woman he had thought she was; a woman that had never existed.

What a fool he had been! What an ignominious fool! Pendergast closed his eyes against the flare of pain and frustration. He let himself fall in love with a woman whose only intent was to use him to further goals that were an offense to most right thinking people. And even now, he still grieved for something that never was and never had been. If he could not trust himself to see through such lies, how could he trust his own judgment again. How could he trust those around him?

And now there was Ameline. Beautiful, smart, fascinating, mercurial, Ameline. He remembered her voice as it changed from the cultured New England accent to the rich patois of the Low Country and back again. He still cringed inwardly at the memory of her healed wound – how could anybody have done that to a child, he wondered not for the first time. He found his own hands clenching into fists in anticipation of what he would do to the man; to the animal who had hurt Ameline - if he had still been alive.

The vehemence of this response astonished him. He had known this young woman for less than a day, but he was angry about injuries she had sustained more than ten years ago. Who was this Ameline Devereaux to affect him in a way that he had not experienced in over fifteen years?

The one thing that Pendergast knew for certain was that he was attracted to Ameline; he had felt a desire for her from the first moment he saw her. And that was the problem. He had fallen in love with Helen only to lose her, to suffer alone for ten years, to find her again and to realize the evil fraud that she had perpetrated on him. How was he to know that Ameline was not like that? How could he trust himself to trust her? And yet, he found that as rational as his brain could be, his heart did not care. He wanted this young woman desperately and a part of his did not care a whit for any consequences.

Pendergast sighed and checked his watch. It was 7:40. He stood up, straightened his jacket and tie and headed down the stairs to await Ameline. Hopefully she would see fit to join him. Hopefully she would be able to forgive him. Hopefully, he would not betray his feelings and be able to maintain his façade of coolness and control.

Pendergast had forgotten one thing. This was New Orleans; "The Big Easy" and it had a power all its own.


	7. Chapter 7

At 7:45 exactly, Pendergast stood at the base of the staircase and risked a look upward as he thought he heard a creak on the old wooden steps. What he saw, took his breath away. Amy arrayed in the new dress that he had purchased was descending the stairs. Pendergast drew a breath as he watched the vision.

The dress fit perfectly – Pendergast, with Madame Angelique's help – and with a bit of strategic snooping by Maurice in Amy's luggage, identified the perfect size. The dress was a rich ruby red silk that made Amy's skin glow and her green eyes sparkle. Her black hair had been released from its sever bun, and cascaded down her back like a silk waterfall. She had twisted a small portion into a small knot into which she had woven the fragrant Magnolia. The dress had a beaded sweetheart neckline and tucked-in waist which accentuated Amy's her figure and the hem played right above her knee. She and the dress appeared to float down the stairs toward Pendergast.

Amy, had never had the opportunity to attend a prom, ball, or cotillion, but in this moment she felt like every other woman must have felt wearing a beautiful dress and walking down the stairs toward a waiting gentleman – God, but Pendergast looked even more handsome in the tuxedo than he did in his suits. Amy, quashed the butterflies dancing in her belly and hoped that her flush was not too bright. Her heart racing and her breath coming in quick, little gasps, Amy slowly and carefully walked toward the bottom. Her eyes fixed on Pendergast who was waiting for her, his arms behind her back. At first glance, his mask of cold, nonchalance had not slipped, but Amy looked more carefully. When he saw her, his eyes widened just slightly and, because his eyes were so light, the dilation of his pupils was obvious. She also noted the slight flaring of his nostrils meaning his own breathing was faster than normal. She found his reaction gratifying.

She walked down to the fourth step at which point, Pendergast stepped forward and offered her his hand, keeping the other arm still behind him as he had been taught. He helped her down the last few steps and as they stood facing each other, he took her hand and brought it to his lips, gently kissing it. If the kiss lasted a few more seconds than protocol demanded and if he then did not release her hand as quickly as absolutely necessary, Amy did not notice.

"You look beautiful," Pendergast told her as he took her hand and tucked her arm into the crook of his elbow. The warm timbre in his voice that she had not heard before and the look in his eyes as his glance raked over her, sent chills down her spine while at the same time, creating a feeling of warmth that radiated from her her core outward.

"And you look very handsome too," she managed to say. "Pendergast," Amy hesitated when he focused his eyes on hers, "...Aloysius," she tried his name instead and when he did not react, she went on. "I wanted to apologize. I should have stopped. I did not need to push like I did. I was trying to prove a point. I am sorry."

The briefest of shadows seemed to cross Pendergast's face and was gone so quickly that Amy doubted what she saw. "Its no matter," his voice was the same cool voice to which he had gotten used. Pendergast checked his watch. "Our car should be out front now. Shall we?" Pendergast opened the door and let Amy out first. The Silver Wraith was outside. Pendergast opened the car door and let her slide in before getting in next to her.

Pendergast was acutely aware of Amy's proximity as their legs were almost touching. It was taking every ounce of control to not touch her. Instead he said, "Perhaps over dinner we could discuss your insights into who may be responsible for the murders."

That request was sweeter to Amy than any of a hundred compliments. She could not help herself and she smiled warmly at Pendergast. The agent watched her pleasure as he spoke, but realized that he was actually looking forward to hearing what she had to say.

Antoine's was everything Amy had thought it would be. A cozily lit space with tables set far enough apart to provide ample privacy for conversation and several staff members dedicated to servicing each group of diners. She and Pendergast received an inordinate amount of attention. "How are you, Mr. Pendergast?...So very nice to see you again. It has been too long." The maitre'd kissed her hand, called her the most beautiful woman to ever grace his restaurant and proceeded to hold the chair for her himself.

She let Pendergast order wine and acquiesced to his recommendations for dinner. They made small talk while the wait staff fussed around them. Pendergast has to admit, if only to himself that Amy was a delightful dinner companion and an fascination woman. What amazed him most was how somebody with such horror in her past could still maintain a bright outlook on life and retain within herself a great reserve of empathy. Both were personality traits, that, for better or worse, Pendergast believed he lacked.

Once dinner was served and they were left alone, Pendegast got down to business. "Have you been able to gather any new information?", he asked without preamble?

"Not much in terms a profile, but I did get some interesting information on our victims. There was petechial hemorrhaging so they were somehow strangled or suffocated, but no marks have been found, so we don't yet know exactly how. They were very clean, but there was dirt under their fingernails and yet their nails were freshly manicured and their hands soft – our team is going to see if there is anything special about the dirt that will give us any insights. Finally, and this is the most interesting thing of all – all the women had traces of varying amounts of lubricant and cornstarch around their pubic area. However, there was no evidence of any sexual intercourse – consensual or otherwise."

"What do you think it all means," Pendergast asked, leaning forward with genuine interest.

"I'm not sure," Amy thoughtfully nibbled on the macarons that were served with the coffee after the remains of the chocolate souffle were cleared away. "I stand by the fact that there is a woman that is in charge, but she clearly has help. They are following some type of ritual and frankly, there are bits that are familiar, but I just can't put my finger on it just yet. I want to get a better look at those medallions. The more I look at the pictures, the more I think that it's a dove and that feels important."

Pendergast nodded, his fingers steepled in concentration. "First thing tomorrow morning, we'll go meet with the local law enforcement. I know the Sheriff of New Orleans. He's a good man to have on our side. Then, since the women were all local, we should question their acquaintances and families to see if there are commonalities."

"We?" Amy asked smiling.

"Of course," Pendergast said without missing a beat. "I think this partnership, may have...," Pendergast hesitated while his eyes sought hers, "potential."

Amy nodded mutely, at a loss for words. When she looked away from those strange pale eyes to take a sip of wine, Pendergast surprised her when his hand covered hers. She gasped in surprise, but it was not a gentle caress; his grip on her hand quickly became painful. She cried out in pain and surprise and looked up.

Her exclamation froze on her lips. Pendergast's eyes were closed, his lips pressed together in a tight line as if trying to contain a sound, and his normally pale face was ashen gray. A slight sheen of sweet bathed his forehead and the lines of pain were evident around his mouth and eyes.

"Aloysius?" Amy asked tentatively.

"I believe," Pendergast grated out with obvious effort, "that I may need some assistance." Then as if those words drained all the remaining energy from his body, the agent started to fall forward.


	8. Chapter 8

Amy moved so quickly that in her haste she pushed her chair over and it crashed to floor. The noise drew the attention of the rest of patrons, but since it was late, the number was mercifully small and once they glanced over, thy all went back to their meals.

Amy managed to catch Pendergast before he slipped out of the chair. He appeared to only be semi-conscious at best; his eyes were closed, his head lolled to the side and his lips moved as if he was trying to speak, but all Amy heard where soft moans. Amy grabbed one of the crisp, pristine napkins from a neighboring table and doused it with ice water from Pendergast's goblet. She applied to cold compress to his face and neck trying to rouse him. "Aloysius," Amy whispered, "please wake up. Please tell me what's wrong? What happened?"

Eventually, her ministrations had the desired effect. Pendergast's eyes fluttered open as he tried to focus on the face in front of him. Finally, with what appeared to be super human efforts, Pendergast was able to focus on Amy. "Poison," he whispered so quietly that Amy had to bend closer to him to hear. Amy did not know why, but something in her FBI instincts told her to take Pendergast's wine glass. She wrapped it in another clean napkin trying not to break it and slipped it into a pocket of Pendergast's jacket.

Just then the Maître d' arrived. He bustled and babbled in worry. "I do hope that it was not something Mr. Pendergast ate," he whined in his most ingratiating voice.

Amy turned to face the little man, shielding Pendergast as best as she could with her own body. "Mr. Pendergast has been ill. I think perhaps this outing was a bit too much for him," she lied smoothly watching relief bathe the other man's features. "If you could please have Mr. Pendergast's car brought, I believe, we will settle up the bill and get Mr. Pendergast home." Then almost as an afterthought. "Is there perhaps a back or side exit. You know how Mr. Pendergast hates a scene and how much he values his privacy."

The florid little man nodded. "We can put this on Mr. Pendergast's tab. And I will have the car brought to the side. It is also much closer so Mr. Pendergast will not need to….," a pause to search for the word,"…exert himself as much."

"Thank you," Amy said and turned back toward Pendergast, effectively dismissing the other man. She looked Pendergast over again finding that he had not improved. If anything, he looked worse. As she watched, he closed his eyes and his whole body tensed in a spasm of pain as his hands clutched the edge of the table. Amy watched helplessly as Pendergast struggled to get himself under control. Finally, when the pain subsided, he looked at her. Amy stepped forward and allowed Pendergast, to lean on her as she slowly made her way to the exit that the Maître d' had indicated.

With Maurice's help, she loaded Pendergast into the car and as the Silver Wraith sped off into the Louisiana night, she watched Pendergast carefully. His breathing appeared to be shallow, his eyes were closed again, and every so often she would see his body stiffen and lips tighten as if in pain. These incidents seemed to be coming more frequently and be increasing in severity as time progressed. "We should go to the hospital," she said in what she hoped was a decisive voice.

"No," gasped Pendergast, who appeared to be in the throes of an attack – a bad one. "Maurice will call my physician who will attend to me at Penumbra." With that, Pendergast's head fell back on the headrest as he struggled to maintain an outward composure.

Somehow Maurice and Amy managed to help Pendergast out of the car. By now the spasms of pain were coming frequently and were so severe that several times Pendergast actually doubled over while crying out in pain. Amy and Maurice were able to guide him into the house, but they knew that they would not be able to get him up the stairs to the Master Suite.

"There is a guest suite just off the main hallway," Maurice gasped as he half walked, half carried his employer. Amy nodded and bore her portion of Pendergast's considerable weight.

They had finally managed to get Pendergast to the guest suite and had helped him lie down. Amy watched as the man lay on the bed, writhing in pain. His hands clutched at the covers and his body curled and contorted in visible agony. Amy carefully approached the suffering man. It seemed so wrong and impersonal to leave him as he was. During one of the rare, quiescent periods, she leaned over him and undid his tie. She unbuttoned and removed his shirt. A ghost of a smile crossed her face when she saw a portion of a tattoo on Pendergast's right bicep. It looked to be one for the Army Rangers and listed his platoon and their motto.

Self-consciously, Amy undid Pendergast's belt. She took off his shoes and socks – she could not bring herself to remove his pants. She helped him under the covers where he lay shivering and exhausted. "Come in," she called out absently when she heard a slight knock on the door. She had expected Maurice, and was surprised when a beautiful, dark skinned woman entered the room.

"I am Dr. Derosiers," the woman said. "Mr. Pendergast's personal physician." Amy nodded. She could not take her eyes off of the woman's golden eyes.

"I'll wait outside," Amy said. Half an hour later, Dr. Derosiers opened the door so that Amy could come in. A quick look at the man in the bed, told her everything she needed to know as he lay there still in pain, but also apparently weakening. He had an IV with fluids, but that seemed to be the only change. Amy looked at the doctor. "Will he be alright?"

"He has been poisoned. That much you know," the doctor started, not answering Amy's question. "We do not know what poison it is, but given how much time passed, it probably does not matter as no antidote would now work."

"We can't give up," Amy cried, angrily.

"We aren't giving up, Miss…" Amy realized guiltily that she had never introduced herself.

"Amy. Amy Devereaux. I…," she hesitated. "I work with Agent Pendergast at the FBI."

The doctor nodded. "Agent Pendergast should by all rights already by dead. However, he had taken it upon himself a few years ago to start to develop a tolerance for a range of poisons. That meant that he started to ingest small quantities. I believe that this is why he is still alive and why he may actually have a chance." Amy looked at her in disbelief. Pendergast was taking poison on purpose. On the other hand, it looked like it was paying off.

"The next forty eight hours are crucial. If Mr. Pendergast survives, he has a good chance to make a full recovery. There is not much we can do in the interim. I am loathe to give him pain medication as it will depress his breathing and heart rate further and may mask symptoms that we may need to be aware of. We can support him with fluids and nutrition. A nurse will be available to do that." She handed Amy a container with something that looked like sludge. "This is activated charcoal paste. In the times that Mr. Pendergast is coherent, see if you can get him to take some. It may ease some of the symptoms." Amy nodded. "The nurse will be here, on call. Please feel free to ask her for any help you need." With that, the doctor took one more look at her patient, reached out to shake Amy's hand, and left, softly closing the door behind her.

Amy stood in the room, uncertain as to what to do. At the moment, Pendergast looked to be resting fairly comfortable, but just as soon as the thought crossed her mind, his whole body violently convulsed, as he cried out in pain. Biting her lip, Amy approached the prone form on the bed and gently placed her hand on Pendergast's shoulder. It felt like the least that she could do; to offer some human contact and what comfort she could. At her touch, Pendergast seemed to relax slightly. Amy remained still for a few more moments if only to offer the man some respite from his pain.

However, when she turned to leave and was about to remove her hand, she found that her wrist was now being held in a surprisingly strong grip. She looked down and saw that Pendergast's slender fingers were around her wrist and his eyes were open. She looked carefully at those strange eyes; they were clouded with pain and something else that she could not quite identify. Fear perhaps?

Pendergast looked into her eyes. "May I ask you a favor," he whispered. His voice was weak, but he was doing his utmost to hide the pain. Amy nodded. "Could you," he hesitated, "that is….would you be able to…," Pendergast trailed off, closing his eyes as he fought to regain control of himself. With a deep breath, that sounded more like a sob of pain, he continued. "What I mean to say is that, it would mean a great deal to me if you would please stay with me; even for just a little while?"

Amy gasped as her heart twisted in sympathy. Extricating her wrist from Pendergast's now relaxed grip, she took his hand in both of hers. "Of course I will, Aloysius," she said, settling down on the bed. "For as long as you need."

"Thank you," Pendergast managed to breathe out before another paroxysm of pain over took him.


	9. Chapter 9

The moment that Amy took Pendergast’s hand in hers, she knew that she would not be leaving; she would stay with him through his ordeal; until he got better or until - Amy's mind shied away from the thought. Pendergast could not die. She would not let him die. She felt Pendergast’s hand tighten on hers and she responded to by quietly speaking to him. "Its alright, Aloysius. I'm here. You're not alone." As was the case each time, her words helped calm the suffering man, but not alleviate any of the pain.   
The nurses did their shifts. They would knock and enter the room at regular intervals and ask Amy to leave. She used those times to shower and change; Maurice would bring food, but it mostly remained untouched. She was focused on Pendergast.   
The minutes, hours and days flowed together. The man's suffering was not abated. In his more lucid moments, Amy tried to administer the charcoal. Sometimes he would swallow some and start to choke and gag, other times he would clench his teeth against the noxious substance. One such time, Amy had miscalculated – she had thought Pendergast to be awake since his eyes were open. As she had done many times before, Amy offered Pendergast the black goo. Unfortunately, in one of his paroxysms of pain, Pendergast stuck out at her. His blow knocked the container out of her hands and knocked her across the small room and into a wall where she lay stunned   
Amy lay there stunned for several minutes. The nurse and Maurice heard the commotion and ran into the room. The next thing that Amy knew was a nurse helping her to sit up and asking her if she was alright. Amy was confused for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure. She tasted salt. When she ran her finger across her lip, she found it wet with blood. Her left cheek throbbed where Pendergast’s hand made contact. The nurse helped her to the bathroom where she surveyed the damage. Split, swollen lip, and a dark bruise on her cheek and along her jawline she was going to have a hell of a black eye too. Amy washed her face. She’d had worse when she was younger; there was no permanent damage.   
_____________________________________________________________________________________   
The forty eight hour mark passed and instead of improving, Pendergast seemed to be getting worse. He had descended into delirium. Although Amy could not understand all of his fevered rantings, she was able to gather that he was relieving prior events from his life and that they involved Helen, his dead wife, and her betrayal of him. Although Amy was unable to get the details, the betrayal appeared to be deep.   
Amy watched Pendergast and her worry continued to grow. His breathing was becoming labored and he looked like he was weakening. The doctor had come and said that there was nothing to be done; the poison was having its effect and Pendergast did not appear to be strong enough to fight it. But Amy thought differently; – Pendergast was fighting – he was just losing.   
Sitting there, holding his hand, Amy was close to tears. It seemed to her that Pendergast had already suffered enough. Suddenly, as if a light went on, Amy understood. It was not the poison that was killing Pendergast. She knew what she had to do.   
Still holding his hand, Amy leaned over the man. Bringing her face close to his, she spoke in a quiet, gentle whisper. “Aloysius. You have to fight the demons. You cannot let them win. You are stronger than they are. I know you are. I know that it hurts, but you have to win this. You can’t let it end this way.” Amy did not know if Pendergast heard her, but his breathing became a little bit easier.   
At seventy five hours, Pendergast’s breathing became very shallow. Amy was in tears – Pendergast was dying and nothing she did was helping. “Please Aloysius,” she whispered. “Not like this”. Sitting at the bedside in the forlorn silence, Amy did not notice herself dozing off. When she jerked awake, something was different. “Oh no, “she whispered as she reached for Pendergast’s hand. To her relief, it was still warm. She dared to look at his face and found it relaxed – the lines of pain and exhaustion almost gone. She checked his pulse and found his heart rate to be strong and regular and his breathing deep and slow – he was asleep. It was only then that Amy realized how unbearably tired she was. She was going to rest for just a few minutes – just close her eyes briefly she told herself as she laid her head on the bed by Pendergast’s hand and closed her eyes. She was asleep in moments.   
_____________________________________________________________________________________ Pendergast was used to pain. He understood pain and was usually able to manage and master it. That is until this time. The searing agony that had seemed to go on forever was more than even he could bear – he used all the techniques he knew, but they were not enough. His rational mind retreated and he just tried to endure. Then the dreams started. A retelling in painful clarity of what he had done and what he had failed to do – and through it all, there was Helen. It was as if she, or her memory, was taunting him. Reminding him of his failures of character. He tossed and turned as if trying to shake loose from the monsters that haunted his past.   
Then he heard her. The accent unmistakable, the tone insistent, the words gentle. She was telling him - asking him to fight. Telling him that he was not alone. For some reason, the words rallied him. He could not see her through his nightmares and through his pain, but he felt her near him and that was enough.   
He forced his way through the morass of his memories like a man cutting his way through a deep jungle. He could not see where he was going, but went on some deep instinct he could not explain. On and on, through horrible memory after horrible memory through the pain of the poison; it seemed he went on forever.   
Suddenly, Pendergast realized that he was lying down. He no longer felt pain. He concentrated, trying to determine what exactly he was feeling. He felt the lift of the pillow under his head, the cool cotton sheets under and around him. What he also noticed that there was something soft and very silky in left hand. Something his fingers were toying with quite independent of the rest of him. With a great effort, he raised his hand and realized that it was hair - blue black in color and with the slightest wave to it. He realized that the silky mass was pooled on his bed around the head that even now rested by his left arm.   
_____________________________________________________________________________________The motion woke Amy. She realized that Pendergast was playing with a few strands of her hair. She lifted her head and the hair slipped out of his grasp. She looked up and realized that he was awake, although his eyes were only partially open.   
Sitting up and pulling her hair back, she asked, "How are you feeling?"   
Pendergast tried several times to speak, until Amy brought a glass of water to his lips and held it and his head while he drank.   
"Weak as the proverbial kitten," came the somewhat glib reply, "and more tired than I thought I could ever be."   
"No wonder," said Amy, "You've been through hell."   
She drew closer to examine him, but he also managed to look at her. With everything that had been going on, she had not thought to conceal the still-swollen lip, or her bruised cheek. Pendergast reached out a hand and gently touched the side of her face. The touch was electric and Amy involuntarily jerked away.   
"I have hurt you. Forgive...," Pendergast started to say, but Amy interrupted.   
"You didn't. You just startled me."   
"What happened?" He asked. Then realization dawned. "I did that. I did that to you. I am..."   
"Stop." Amy commanded, unconsciously pressing her face into the hand. "You were delirious. You had no idea what you were doing. This was not your fault. "   
Pendergast adjusted his hand and turned Amy's face so that her eyes were looking directly into his.   
He pulled her closer and closer still. For a moment they were only a breath apart...


	10. Chapter 10

A quiet knock on the door shattered the moment. With the slightest caress of her cheek, which may have been accidental, Pendergast dropped his hand; the nurse had come in to do her regular rounds. Amy had not realized that she had stepped back several feet from the bed and was pressed up against the wall. Her face still tingled from where Pendergast had touched her.

She risked a look at the agent and saw that he was lying back on the pillow with his eyes closed as if the...she searched her brain for a word...the interaction had exhausted him. The nurse was efficient and discrete. If she noticed anything, she said nothing, but proceeded to check Pendergast's vitals.

"He woke up," Amy said, her voice still shaky.

"That's good, honey," the nurse said in her warmest, professional tone. "He looks better," She spared a few moments to look the younger agent over, "but you look like you've been through the ringer. How about you go and get some rest like a good girl." She looked over at Pendergast who appeared to have fallen back asleep. "He will be fine. I'll stay with him."

Amy tried to argue, but found her tongue thick with exhaustion. "Doctor?" Was all she managed to get out.

The nurse smiled. "I will make sure you'll be woken up when the doctor comes."

Amy nodded numbly as she headed for the door.

"You did good, honey," the nurse said, surprising Amy. "Real good. He'd not have made it without you."

Hugging those words close to herself, Amy somehow managed to make it upstairs to her room and collapsed on the bed. She was asleep before her head had fully rested on the pillow.

Strange dreams haunted Amy's sleep. Women in white robes. Walking in a line, kneeling then standing up and walking out. In her dream, Amy's eyes were clouded by what she thought was smoke and the smell – she knew it..what was it? The singing – if she could call it – it was more of a discordant chant, grated on her ears. She was sure they were not speaking English, but it did not sound familiar.

Then the drumming started. Not a regular beat, but a stocatto several beats,then a rest. Another several and then silence. There was also voice, calling to her. "Miss Ameline. Miss Ameline, are you awake."

The knocking and Maurice's voice eventually woke Amy fully. While her brain was still foggy with the remnants of her dream, she was awake enough to respond to Maurice so that he would cease the knocking on her door.

"Maurice. I'm awake. I'm awake. I'm coming to the door." Amy looked around and realized that it was light – the bright clear light of morning. She padded across the floor and opend the door to see the dapperly dressed old man smiling at her. "What time is it? Oh, hell," she could not help but laugh ruefully, "what day is it?"

Maurice, imperturbable as ever, replied. "You have slept nearly twenty hours, Miss. It is morning. Master Aloysius wanted to know if you felt up to joining him for breakfast?"

"Breakfast?" Amy knew she sounded completely stupid. She stopped a moment, shook her head to clear it and started again. "Master Aloysius is having breakfast?"

"Yes, Miss." Maurice nodded. "He would very much like it if you would join him. If you are feeling up to it."

Amy took another deep breath. "Please tell Master Aloysius," she was proud that she did not stumble on the moniker, "that I would be happy to join him in about half an hour...as soon as I have freshened up."

"Yes, Miss." Maurice said. "Thank you, Miss. I shall tell him. He will be awaiting you in the dining room."

As soon as the door closed, Amy ran for the bathroom. She ran the water as hot as she could and scrubbed herself head to foot. Her hair would be sopping wet, but there was nothing she could do about that. She put on clean trousers and a light sweater and braided her hair into a thick rope that hung down her back. She looked at herself in the mirror, she reached for a lipstick, but decided that the lipstick would not help matters. With a resigned sigh, she headed down the stairs to the dining room.

As she was walking down the stairs, a terrifying throught gripped her. Would PEndergast remember their...what would one call it? Their almost kiss? She felt heat come to her cheeks. How was she supposed to act after that? Another deep breath. Maybe he would not remember. He was still groggy. Surely he had not know what he was doing and now, in the light of day, all that would seem as if a dream.

Amy paused before the entrance to the dining room, took another breath, and walked in.

Pendergast was sitting at the head of the dining table. Pendergast was wearing his impeccably tailored snowy white shirt, but to her surprise, he did not have on a tie or a jacket and the shirt was open at the throat. He may have been a shade paler than usual, but that appeared to be the only negative side effect of his ordeal.

"Good morning," Amy managed to sound casual.

Pendergast looked up from the paper he was reading and lowered his coffee cup. He immediately rose and walked toward Amy.

Amy found herself blushing again under the direct gaze of those silver blue eyes, but she forced herself to continue looking directly at the man.

Pendergast could not take his eyes of the younger woman. Even tired, with dark cirlces still under her eyes, and the bruise still livid on her cheek, she was lovely. He did his best to manage his own breathing as he approached her. He remembered the feel of her skin on his hand and the electricity of being that close to her. Had they not been interrupted, he would have kissed her. But that moment had fled – he found himself hoping desperately that it was not forever.

It took all his effort to keep a calm demeanor as he rose and approached Amy. "Thank you," he said simply, "for all that you did." He bent over her hand intending to lightly kiss the fingers, but at the last minute, he turned her hand over and gently caressed the inside of her wrist with his lips in a courtly, yet extremely personal gesture.

Amy gasped in surprise and at the whirlwind of emotions and sensations that gesture caused.

Pendergast shocked at his own loss of control, stood up and with his normal, bland expression on his face – an expression that hid the tumult in his mind and body – gently took Amy's arm. "May I show you to a chair?" He walked her over to the table and pulled out a chair next to his own. Immediately Maurice appeared as if out of the air. He placed a napkin in her lap and poured her a cup of coffee.

Hoping to hide her confusion and her feelings, Amy picked up the cup and brought it to her lips. She noticed that Pendergast was doing exactly the same thing. Somehow this brought her comfort; somehow she knew he was as unsettled as she.

Pendergast eyed the young woman. She, unlike any other seemed to have the ability to completely undo his self control and for some reason he did not mind. He shook his head slightly as if to clear it.

"Ameline," he said, his smooth voice all business for the first time in several days. "Given how much time we have lost due to my...," a pause, "...incapacitation, I suggest that immediately after breakfast we go to meet the local law enforcement. I do not think that we can afford to lose any more time."

Amy looked at Pendergast in utter disbelief. "Not twelve hours ago you were at death's door," she said in a tone that belied her utter surprise, "and now you plan to continue this investigation as if nothing has happened."

The barest hint of anger flashed in Pendergast's eyes and was gone, "We have only a few days to prevent another young woman from losing her life. That is what we are here for. I assure you that I am quite fit and capable of doing the job."

"But somebody tried to poison you..."

"I am aware of that," Pendergast cut her off, "and I shall deal with that personally and in my own time," the chill in his voice and in his eyes, left no doubt as to how he was planning to deal with that particular miscreant, "but for now, the lives of the young women matter more." He checked his watch even as Maurice began placing steaming platters on the table. "Now, my dear, may I get you some eggs? Given our day ahead, I am not certain when we will again have a meal."


	11. Chapter 11

Amy checked her reflection in the full length mirror on the door of her bedroom. She was now dressed for work in a dark navy suit and pumps. Her badge was tucked into its holder in her pocket. She checked her Glock 23, made sure the safety was on, and placed it in her holster.

She sighed. She'd never been much of a breakfast eater and, with everything else going on, she had no appetite to tackle the dishes that were put in front of her. She nibbled on a piece of toast while Maurice refilled her coffee cup several times over. That had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that hot, sweet liquid, had settled like a cold, hard lump in her stomach. She was a bundle of nerves – so many things were not making sense to her...and yet...it seemed like answers were just outside of her grasp – if she could just reach for them.

Amy adjusted several pins holding her hair in a severe bun at the base of her neck. She turned to leave her room when something caught her eye. On the desk, laying in its original box, was the Magnolia that had come with the dress that Pendergast had bought her. She must have taken it off that night and tossed into the box without even thinking about it. Somehow the conditions were perfect to have preserved it. Amy did not understand why, but seeing the flower somehow eased some her fears; the flower had survived and this somehow gave her hope that she and Pendergast would solve the case in time to prevent any more deaths.

Her phone buzzed indicating a new email. She reached for it and read the message, her jaw tightening in consternation.

Pendergast, now with his tie and jacket in place, was waiting downstairs. "As we had planned before," Pendergast said, "let us start with the Sheriff.. I believe the car is outside." He opened the door for her and Amy gasped. Waiting for them with the engine running was a vintage Jaguar E-Type. "Would you like to drive," Pendegast asked, as he opened the driver's side door for Amy.

"So you see, Aloysius," Amy continued as she maneuvered the dusty back roads around Penumbera, "the women were strangled. Not suffocated. When the lab techs examined them again, they found very thiick, waterproof, theatrical makeup that had been used to conceal the marks. The techs then examined the throats and found that their larynxes had been crushed." Amy took a deep breath, as she took a particularly tight corner and then continued. "Of course, there was no trace remaining, but the bruising itself was telling. It was very smooth and even and the skin was not torn – something soft was used…something perhaps like a silk cord."

Aloyisius nodded. "But what does it mean."

Amy shrugged and sighed in frustration. "I have no idea…," she hesitated, "…yet."

Sheriff Giles Charboneau was a grizzled veteran in his mid fifties. He looked to have been a boxer at some point in his life since his nose had clearly been broken several times. He had managed to retain most of the fighter's physique and while not as tall at Pendergast, still projected power and authority as he walked toward the agents with his hand outstretched.

Pendergast shook hands with the Sheriff and introduced Amy. "Welcome to New Orleans, Agent," the Sheriff said. "How can I help you?"

Amy took a deep breath. "We are investigated the deaths of the young women and were wondering if there is anything that you would be able to tell us? You are clearly closer and we would very much appreciate your insights." She was careful not to mention serial killers or profiling; she wanted the Sheriff to tell her what he knew or thought he knew.

The older man adjusted his tie; he looked pleased; the FBI wanted his opinion and he knew that his experience would make his opinion the only correct one. He straightened his tie and swept invisible crumbs from his shirt. "Well…what we have here are some party girls that made some bad choices.'

Amy could not help it; she actually gaped at the man for a moment before reasserting her self control; she did not dare look at Pendergast. Luckily, the man was so absorbed in his story that he did not notice and continued. "As much as I love New Orleans, it's a big city and things happen to girls who are not careful."

"And what do you think happened to these girls, Sheriff?" Pendergast's voice was smooth as silk and betrayed none of the outrage that Amy was feeling.

"Well, I think they went to a party and met up with somebody."

"What party would that be, Sheriff and who would these girls have met," Amy was amazed at how calm her own voice sounded.

"If I had to guess, they were at a Sigma Theta Omega party. They have a pretty large house over at Tulane University," the Sheriff said with maddening certainty. "We made the decision to not question the young gentlemen," the Sheriff finished with a definite note of defiance in his voice, "there did not appear to be a need to disturb them about something like this." Amy bristled again; "something like this" was the murder of several young women…and the Sheriff did not see it as a problem. She was about to let him know exactly what she thought when Pendergast intervened.

"I see Sheriff," Pendergast's unperturbed voice was a soft purr. "Thank you very much. I believe we understand. We will not take anymore of your time. Thank you." He took Amy's arm and maneuvered her to the door. "Thank you very much."

"What the hell was that all about," Amy turned on Pendergast as soon as they had reached the car. "Is the man delusional or does he really believe that…that…,"

"No, Ameline," Pendergast's voice was now cold with his own fury, "not entirely. I am certain that he does think the women were casualties of an unfortunate encounter ; he lacks any imagination to identity any further possibility, however his reticence in questioning the so-called suspects, is purely political."

Amy was still seething and her eyes were hard as she regarded the older agent,"For God's sake, Aloysius, can you please just say what you mean. You had said that the Sheriff was a good man to know – I only see a blind old fool."

"This is New Orleans, Ameline," Pendergast said, his voice still hard, but softening just slightly as he looked at her,\, "you of all people should understand that. The Sheriff is an elected official and those that elect him are very wealthy and influential. Since those young women were neither, he has very little interest in them. On the other hand, the…," he paused, as if looking for the right word, "…gentlemen," she heard the contempt in his voice, "have fathers who are wealthy, influentials and large contributors to the Sheriff's reelection campaign. When I said that he was a good man to know, I meant that we ignore him at our peril."

"So what are we going to do now," Ameline bit her words.

She heard the dry amusement in Pendergast's voice, "Why… we go question the Honorable Brothers of Sigma Theta Omega.


	12. Chapter 12

Amy never had the opportunity to attend a Ivy League school. The small community college that she attended, did not even have pretensions and was located in a single five-story building in an industrial part of Charlestown, MA. Seeing Tulane University was a surprise. The tree shaded lanes, tha manicured lawns, and the venerable buildings exuded an old world charm. The students who all seemed so young and fresh faced rushed to classes, walked slowly or lounged on the grass. The scene looked idyllic - like something from a movie or a postcard. Amy felt suddenly wistful for something that she would never have. She maneuvered the Jaguar through the streets within the university until she pulled up to the fraternity house.

Pendergast had stepped out of the car and walked around to open the door for Amy. Amy, however, did not appear to be in a hurry to get out of the car. She pulled down the window shade and opened the mirror. She undid the pins in her hair allowing it to fall freely then pulled part of it back into a ponytail. She unbuttoned the top button of her shirt and spread the collar. Finally, she reached into her purse and applied a bright pink lip gloss. She looked over and smiled at Pendergast. The unperturbable agent raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. She clearly had an approach in mind and he had a suspicion that he understood exactly what game she was playing. However, even he became slightly concerned when she walked to the back of the car, removed her shoulder holster and locked the gun in the trunk. Although he did not like the idea of her going in unarmed, he had to admit that her approach was very likely to get the answers they needed. Seeing the look of concer on the older agent's face, Amy gave him a bright disingenuous smile, leaned in slightly, and whispered, "Its OK. I know you've got my back."

Pendergast permitted Amy to step in front of him and knock on the door. A boy of about eighteen opened the door on the second knock. He was dressed in an old tee shirt and boxer shirts and his mussed hair and half closed eyes indicated that he had been roused from sleep. Amy wrinkled her nose at the pungent smell of stale, cheap alcohol wafting off the boy. Amy smiled her brightest smile. She and Pendergast showed the boy their badges and Amy used her small size to squeeze past the boy and into the house. "I am Agent Devereaux and this," she said, indicating Pendergast who used his bulk to muscle past him, "is Agent Pendergast. We are with the FBI and we have some questions. Who are you?," The question came so quickly and so sweetly, that the young man answered without thinking.

"I'm Josh Fines. I'm a Pledge." Amy nodded.

"Alright, Pledge Fines, may we please speak with somebody in charge?"

Pendergast noted that Amy's accent, normally subtle at best, was as broad, thick and honey sweet as it could possibly be. He suspected she now sounded like the girls this young man would be attracted to; non-threatening and seemingly not too smart. Pendergast smiled slightly – the Brothers of Sigma Theta Omega were in for a surprise if they underestimated Amy. He quietly moved into the shadows so that he would be near by to assist Amy if she needed it while making sure that his presence would not intimidate the pledge or interfere with Amy's interrogation.

The young man stared at Amy for a few more moments as if trying to understand what she had said, then nodded. "Our president is home. I'll go get him."

Amy graced him with another dazzling smile, "Thank you so much."

When Josh left, Amy looked around the hall way. It seemed to be a typical fraternity house; rather old, somewhat dark and non too clean. Pendergast was looking around too. Something on the stair case caught his eye and he looked over to see a young man dressed in a black coat with a familiar logo and striped pants stop briefly and then run back up the stairs. Pendergast was about to draw Amy's attention to what he saw when a loud voice interrupted his musings.

"How may I help you?" The voice was smooth, educated and definetely southern and the speaker was a young man of about twenty five. Tall and handsome with artfully tumbled hair, he wore a polo shirt with the franternity's logo, chino shorts and boat shoes. He smiled at Amy and stretched out a hand. "My name is Gray." At what must have been a quizzical look, he amended. "Grayson. Grayson DuBois. Of the Shenandoah DuBois."

Amy smiled as if the introduction meant something to her. "And you are...," the young man prompted.

"Agent Amy Devereaux." Amy showed him her ID, but refrained from introducing Pendergast since he was doing his best to be inconspicuous and since Gray's focus was on her...or more specifically on certain assets that she possessed.

"What can I do for you?"

"We need you help," Amy started in her honeyd accent. "Do you know any of these girls?" She lifted her phone and showed Gray the three pictures. The young man shook his head without even really looking.

"Never seen 'em."

Keeping her anger in check, Amy tried again. "Perhaps if you look carefully. We are fairly certain they may have come to a party here."

Gray heaved a sigh and made a great show of looking again. Finally he nodded. "Her. I've seen her before, " he said pointing at one of the pictures; a pretty girl with golded skin and dark curly hair.

"When did you see her last?" Amy asked

"How should I know?" The tone was defensive. "Do you have any idea how many girls come to these parties? They all want to party with the Theta's." Amy hated the emphasis that he placed on the word "party."

"Did she party with you?" She asked.

"There are so many," Gray smirked," I can't possibly remember."

"Try." The word was sweet, but there was steel in her eyes. Steel that Gray completely ignored.

"Yeah...maybe...," Gray started. "I can't be sure. She wasn't all that memorable."

Amy bit back a retort.

Gray was eyeing Amy. He looked her up and down and smiled his most charming smile. He closed the space between them until he was so close that her breasts were almost touching his chest. "Now you," he whispered, "you I'd remember." He reached out to touch her shoulder and Amy batted his arm away.

"Please don't touch me. I appreciate the attention, but I am really not interested."

Grayson completely ignored her and reached out again. This time, he was aiming for her breast. Pendergast, who had been watching the exchange with growing anger made a move, but he was not fast enough. Amy grabbed the young man's arm, twisted it back, used her elbow in the crook of his arm to bring it down and then kicked the backs of his knees making him collapse. When he was down, she quickly put handcuffs on his wrists, and kneeling with her knee at the back of his neck, purred in his ear.

"You have just committed an assualt on a Federal agent. This is a felony and I can arrest you. Or you can answer my questions. It's really you choice, Mr. DuBois of the Shenandoah DuBois – I will get my answers – the question is how uncomfortable are you going to be."

"Bitch," Grayson swore. "Damn, C..."

"Ah..Ah..Ah," Amy cautioned kneeling harder on his back. "I'd suggest a civil tongue." After a moment she asked again. "Are you ready."

Grayson nodded as best as he could lying prone.

"So tell me about the girl."

"She was at our party about a month ago," Grayson said. "She liked to party. We...," he hesitated trying to keep his response polite. "We had a party together."

"I understand," Amy said, "then what."

"She left in the morning."

"Have you tried calling her. Did she try to reach you?"

Grayson chuckled, "That's not how this works. Theta's don't girl the girls...unless they are very special. She wasn't"

"She had a name," Amy snarled. "Her name was Christina Farley. She was nineteen and she now she is dead."

"And that is my problem how?" Grayson was getting some spirit back after being humiliated.

Amy sighed, "Clearly this is not something you will lose sleep over. But I do have one more question." She scrolled through her phone and showed the young man a picture of the amulet. "Are you familiar with this? Is this something that you fraternity gives out?"

Gray took a look and guffawed. "This is a purity medal. That's what that loser Christian fraternity gives their girls because they can't manage to get it up. I mean girls that come here..."

Amy stood and roughly pulled him up. She removed the handcuffs. "I think I understand, Mr. DuBois. Thank you for clarifying it for me and thank you for being...," she paused, "...for being so helpful." She cast a look at Pendergast. "We can see ourselves out."

Pendergast and Amy walked down the steps away from the fraternity. "What a pig," Amy said. "I feel like I need a very long, very hot shower that includes bleach." She looked back over her shoulder at Pendergast. "You certainly kept to yourself during the questioning. I take it you are satisfied with my skills as a field agent." She had meant it as a joke, a light reference to their initial meeting a confirmation that he now saw her as an equal. She turned back and continued walking, missing seeing Pendergast flinch as if in momentary pain.

"At least we know Christina was here." Pendergast said. "I would be willing to wager, the other girls were here too." Amy nodded but slowed down as she heard a strange note in Pendergast's voice.

"Although there is something about the Purity medal. Somehow it fits. I feel it."

They had reached the car. They were walking around the back of the car so that Pendergast could let her in when suddenly. Pendergast reached for her wrist. He pulled on it, forcing Amy to turn and face him. Amy looked into his eyes which were burning with an intensity she had not seen. "I had no doubt that you would be able to manage that over-indulged, entitled lout on your own," his voice was just above a whisper. "But I swear, that I will be there when you do need my help. I will not just stand by if you are in danger. I will have your back."

Amy stared at the man. It seemed vital to him that she understand this. "I know, Alyoisius," she said gently, touched by the intensity and obvious depth of his feelings. Of its own volition, her hand raised and reached to stroke his face, but she managed to control the impulse and just awkwardly place her hand on his chest "I know. I" she said more emphatically, watching the man relax slightly. A realization hit Amy and she gasped. "Oh, God Aloysius. I was joking. I did not mean to imply..."

Pendergast interrupted her, his voice more gentle, "It is of no matter," he placed his hand briefly over the hand that still rested on his chest. "You had things well in hand, but if that bast..." he struggled for a word obviously not wanting to use an obscenity, "...that individual threatened you in any way..." He stopped speaking, leaving the threat in the air. Amy let it rest. She would not have envied young Gray DuBois if Pendergast had seen fit to become involved. She smiled tentatively and tried to change the subject and diffuse the tension between them.

"I'm hungry. What's there to eat around here?"

Pendergast handed her into the Jag and directed her to a café on one of the side streets. Amy parked the car and they started crossing the street toward the restaurant. "The Dove," Amy said. "A symbol of purity. All three girls had a medal with them when their bodies were found. That's a message. I know its important. I know that it means something." A tolling of the bell at a church across the street caused her to look up and what she saw caused her to freeze in her tracks. All of a sudden some of the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. "My God," she whispered. "Oh My God."

Pendergast did not notice that Amy had stopped until he was several steps ahead of her. He turned to wait for her and that is when he saw the car screeching around the corner headed directly for the young woman. Even as Pendergast yelled a warning, he knew that Amy would not be able to react in time to avoid the danger. Covering the several steps that separated them in a desperate sprint, Pendergast raced the on-coming car as he lunged for Amy.


	13. Chapter 13

Amy heard Pendergast cry out and raised her head toward the sound. She just caught the glimpse of the car racing toward her as Pendergast knocked her off her feet and away from the car. She crashed to the ground trying to roll in order to soften her landing, but the impact knocked the air out of her and her head made contact with the cement. Stars and pain exploded behind Amy's eyes and then there was momentary blackness.

It was a close thing and Pendergast felt rather than heard the hard impact as Amy's body hit the ground and he cursed himself for a fool for not better cushioning her as they both fell. Had he injured her in his effort to protect her from being hit by the car? He felt the heat of the car's exhaust on his face as the car raced past them as he used his body to shield Amy. His heart still beating from the rush of adrenaline and the terrifying notion that Amy could be hurt, he dared to look down at the woman lying on the ground. Her eyes were closed and she looked pale. Unable to breathe, Pendergast reached out a hand and felt the pulse in her neck. When he found it strong and even, he let out a breath he had not realized he had been holding. "Ameline," he whispered. "Are you alright?"

His query was answered first by a quiet moan and then by a string of Creole obscenities so colorful that even Pendergast had not heard them all. He had not realized it, but he was actually smiling slightly in his relief that Amy did not appear to be seriously hurt. He sat back on his haunches giving her a moment to recover. Amy opened her eyes and looked around. Pendergast had the satisfaction of seeing those eyes, momentarily clouded by confusion, clear up as Amy quickly assessed the situation.

"Ameline," Pendergast asked again. "Are you hurt? Shall I call an ambulance?"

Amy took a moment to do a mental check. "I am a little banged up and have the Mother of all Headaches, but otherwise, I think I'm OK," she answered. Pendergast helped her sit up. She rubbed the back of her head and her hand came away smeared with blood from a cut. Pendergast raised his eyebrows, but Amy shook her head; now was not a time for any type of scene especially since a crowd of gawkers was gathering and the occasional car was having to make a detour around all of them. Pendergast helped Amy stand up and although it took her three tries, Amy stood on her own...for a moment. Immediately, she began to feel dizzy and nauseous, and while she did not realize that she was swaying, she knew that the ground beneath her feet seemed to be moving for no apparent reason. She was not sure if she would be able to sit back down or if she would actually fall,until, much to her extreme relief,she !felt a strong arm snake around her waist.

"If you can walk just a few feet, Ameline, we shall be at the car," Pendergast whispered gently. "Lean on me.' And Amy did just that, gratefully leaning into Pendergast while he held her close, supporting most of her weight.

In the car, with her eyes closed and the windows open, Amy felt a little better. She did not open her eyes as the car sped down the road toward Penumbera.

"You don't think this was an accident, do you," Amy asked, her eyes still shut against the pain in her head and her roiling stomach.

Pendergast had just called Doctor Derosiers and ensuring that she would meet them at the house. "No," he said slowly, "I do not think that it was an accident. That driver was very deliberately targeting you."

"Did you see him?"

"Perhaps...When we were at the fraternity house, a young man came down the stairs dressed to go to work at Antoine's – I recognized the insignia. I cannot be certain, but I believe he was behind the wheel of the car that almost stuck you."

At that Amy forced open her eyes to look at Pendergast, cringing at what the bright light of the late afternoon was doing to her head. "Let's go then," she said. "We should talk to him." She closed her eyes again and clamped her mouth closed as another wave of nausea hit.

Without taking his eyes off the road, Pendergast reached out his right hand and placed it gently on Amy's shoulder. "First we need to make sure that you are well. Let the doctor examine you. There will be time enough."

Amy relaxed under the warmth of Pendergast's hand. "Aren't you the same guy who was running off to solve the case right after he recovered from being poisoned?" She asked with as much irony as she could muster under the circumstances – it was not much. Pendergast looked at the young woman's pale features as she rested with her head against the headrest, smiled gently, and said nothing more.

Pendergast assisted Amy out of the car and into the house. By this time, her head was starting to feel better and her stomach had settled down enough for her to recall that she was hungry.

was waiting. She took Amy into one of the guest suites and examined her injured head. She took her pulse and blood pressure, checked her eyes, and listened to her heart and lungs. She also asked Amy several pointed questions about her dizziness and nausea. In the end, she cleaned the broken skin on her scalp and applied a quick dose of an antibacterial solution, indicating that nothing more would be needed. "You most likely have a mild concussion, My Dear," the doctor said. Some extra rest and you will be fine tomorrow or certainly by the next day." Amy nodded her thanks.

Pendergast was waiting outside. He said a few quiet words to the doctor who looked at Amy one more time, smiled, said good-bye and left.

"See," Amy said. "Nothing serious. Now, can we please question the guy who seems to want to kill me?"

"As you wish," said Pendergast quietly, but perhaps you would like to take some time to change. That brought Amy up short. She stole a look in a mirror that hung on the wall and gasped.

"Oh God. Why didn't you tell me I looked like this." Her hair was disheveled and looked matted where the blood had touched it. Her shirt was filthy and torn on her back and across one sleeve and her skirt was ripped and wrinkled probably beyond repair. After a moment, Amy smiled ruefully. "Perhaps I had better bathe and change and wait until I am in a more fit state than I apparently am. It would be a poor reflection on the FBI if I was to be the representation of the agency." She cast a meaningful look at Pendergast as she headed up the stairs.

Pendergast watched the young woman walk away with a contemplative look. She was filthy and bruised and in some obvious discomfort, and yet, he noted, that she carried herself with an easy and natural grace that many women would envy. He shook his head trying to clear it from the memory of the heart-stopping terror he felt when he realized that the car was heading straight for his new partner and how it had felt to have her so close. The slightest shiver passed through his body in recollection of the having her in his arms- even for that moment. Pendergast tamped down those feelings and turned to Maurice. "I believe we will have an early supper at home, if you please, Maurice."

Amy luxuriated for a long time in the large old-fashioned tub in her bathroom soaking away the soreness and soothing her bruises. She washed her hair, treated the broken skin on the back of her head gently. Finally, with her hair in a long braid and dressed in a Quantico Sweatshirt and jeans, she padded downstairs.

Pendergast was in the Sitting Room comfortably ensconced in one of the arm chairs with a glass of Bourbon. As Amy entered, Maurice greeted her with a pot of tea and a plate of crackers and cheese. Amy gratefully accepted both and sat on the couch, her legs tucked under her and sipped her tea. Admittedly, she earned for a bourbon, but knew that her concussion precluded that indulgence at least for now.

After a lengthy pause where she was able to eat the snack that Maurice so kindly provide, Pendergast spoke up. "Ameline," he said with no preamble. "What made you stop in the road? You saw something...do you recall what it was?"

Amy looked at Pendergast for a moment, and then nodded. "Of course. I should have told you sooner. I am sorry. As we were crossing the street, I heard the church bells and I saw a novice nun." Pendergast continued to look at her expectantly. "In most cases, novices wear white habits, regardless of habits they will wear when they are full members of their order." Pendergast nodded and Amy continued.

"The nuns are virgins or at least become celibate upon taking the veil. This also reminded me of a dream that I'd had of women in white robes...those women...it took me a long time to realize where I had seen them...it was at a recreation of a Roman ritual of the Vestal Virgins." Amy took a breath and looked at Pendergast, her eyes shining with excitement, "and do you know what the symbol of the Vestal Virgins was?" Pendergast shook his head. "The dove, Aloysius. Just like the dove on the purity medals that all the victims had."

Amy looked over at the other agent again and realized that he was now fully engaged. He brow was furrowed as if trying to recall a memory long forgotten. "Virgins...," he whispered. "Vestal Virgins..."

"Aloysius," Amy prodded. "What is it. This is ringing a bell for you, isn't it?"

Slowly Pendergast nodded his head. "Perhaps...Just Perhaps," he muttered as he stood up and headed to the library.


	14. Chapter 14

Amy watched Pendergast's back as he headed out of the Sitting Room. She forced her legs to unfold, groaning in pain as the bruising and stiffness reminded her of the days events. Doing her very best to not walk like an eighty year old, Amy padded after the other agent as he headed into the bowels of the house.

"Pendergast," she called out, receiving no reply. "Pendergast!" The man kept walking, his eyes focused ahead. Amy managed to catch up. "Will you be sharing any time soon, or am I to read your mind?" The sting of the sharp words was softened by a small smile. Pendergast, looked down at the younger woman and slowed down. They had approached large double doors, and Pendergast pulled one open, letting Amy in. He turned to the wall and turned on the lights. Amy gasped.

The room was easily two stories tall and filled with dark stained shelf upon dark stained shelf of books. Amy stood in the center of the dark burgundy carpet and spun around, taking in the Pendergast library. "Oh my God," she whispered in awe, as the crystal chandeliers and desk lamps cast a warm glow on the entire room.

"Thank you," Pendergast said with undisguised pleasure, taking her reaction as a compliment.. "This library has been the pride of the family for generations." Amy walked among the tables and book stands, her fingers gently tracing intricate carvings and leather bindings of tomes left open. She noticed that there was not a mote of dust anywhere and wondered, not for the first time, how Maurice alone could keep the place so immaculate. She realized that Pendergast was speaking again, "I spent many happy hours in here," he said, almost wistfully, his eyes unfocused as if reliving a memory. "Diogenes and I…, he stopped speaking and shook his head. Amy noticed sadness and something akin to anger, but decided to let it go.

Pendergast took a deep breath, "My mother and, before her my grandmother and great grandmother, engaged in the traditional pass time of the well to do women of high society." When that statement was met by a blank look from Amy, he went on. "They collected news about the family. Any mention in the newspaper, was cut out and put into books." He had walked over and reached for a thin, leather bound book with the year 1915 embossed in gold.

"A scrapbook," Amy asked. "The Pendergast women kept a scrapbook?"

Pendergast mulled that word over, "Perhaps that is the correct term. This was a journal of important family events and a repository of family history.

"In other words, a scrapbook," Amy reiterated.

"As you wish," Pendergast said as he was thumbing through the pages. "What you had said about Vestal Virgins reminded me of a story my grandmother told me about a woman, a distant family relation…a cousin of my Great Grandmother." He had stopped leafing through the book, laid it on the table and motioned for Amy to come and read, pulling out a chair for her and perching on the desk next to her."

Amy gently caressed the thick parchment as she began to read what she quickly realized was an engagement announcement. The article was from the New Orleans Gazette and was dated February 4, 1915. "The parents of Miss Georgiana Louise de Labertoux, aged 19, are very pleased to announce her engagement to Mr. Andrew Philip Marceau, aged 24. The couple was engaged this January 15, at the Grand Cotillion. Mr. Marceau was home on leave from France where he is stationed." Amy drew a breath and looked up at Pendergast.

"He was a soldier?"

Pendergast nodded. "The way my grandmother told it, he was an Army Lieutenant stationed in France, although for security purposes, the newspaper did not say where." Amy continued to read.

"The wedding is to take place at the de Labertoux family chapel on November 18th, after Mr. Marceu completed his patriotic duty. Miss Georgiana's cousin, Miss Amaryllis Pendergast will act as Matron of Honor and Mr. Marceus' brother, Francis, will stand as Best Man. The New Orleans Gazette would like to extend our best wishes to the happy couple."

"So they married and lived happily ever after," Amy said, looking at Pendergast.

Keep reading," the man said and turned the page.

The next article was dated 1916. "Miss Georgiana de Labertoux, along with several other young women who lost husbands or fiancées to the Great War...," Amy looked up, her eyes stricken.

"He died?" She whispered.

Pendergast nodded, "As did many young men from New Orleans...the cream of society."

Amy read on. "The young ladies have turned their grief into a beneficent force for good in New Orleans," the florid tone of the story was mildly annoying, but she found the story compelling. "Having had their hearts irreparably broken, these brave young women, have taken it upon themselves to serve the poor and underprivileged of New Orleans. Wearing the signature white of nurses and Vestal Virgins…," Amy looked up her eyes widening and Pendergast nodded.

"Wearing the signature white of nurses and Vestal Virgins, they bring food and medical care to those that cannot do it for themselves. Having foresworn companionship, they put all efforts into helping those less fortunate. These young angels of mercy make all of New Orleans and the entire state of Louisiana proud."

Amy finished the article and again looked up. "So translating what I read. Those poor young women…girls really, lost their loved ones to World War One and gave up…, Amy looked for a words, "…gave up male companionship in order to help the poor?'

Pendergast nodded. "My grandmother said that since most of the women had not yet married, they were still virgins and they made a promise to remain so while they did their work."

"What happened to them," Amy asked.

"Eventually most of them met young men returning from the War and fell in love. They married and left the work."

"And Georgiana?" For some reason it was very important for her to know.

Pendergast turned the page to another article.

For some reason Amy was afraid to read the final article with the ominous date of November 17, 1918. "The New Orleans Gazette must sadly report the passing of Miss Georgiana Louise de Labertoux. She was found this morning in her room in Miss Grantham's Boarding House. She was 22. It is believed that she died from the flu that has been ravaging the poorer sections of New Orleans since she has spent all her time in the Paupers' Hospital taking care of the sick." Amy took a deep breath and forced herself to finish the article. "Miss Georgiana was the last remaining Virgin of New Orleans, as the others had all left to get married and start families. Since Miss Georgiana's parents had already succumbed to the flu, her funeral will be organized and planned by the New Orleans Ladies' Society and this newspaper is pleased to be able to provide the flowers." The rest of the story provided funeral details and Amy skipped it.

Amy sat at the desk, not realizing that a tear escaped from her eye and ran donw her cheek. "How unspeakably sad," she whispered. "She lost the man she loved and then, after so much good work, she died al alone...," Amy paused for a moment. "I can't imagine anything sadder than dying alone." Having spent so much time on her own, Amy felt a strange kinship with this young woman, but somehow, Amy had never thought about what it would be like to always remain alone. The image painted by the newspaper articles was a stark and poignant reminder of just what her life could be...alone...always alone. Another tear escaped to run down her other cheek. Pendergast was looking at Amy, his eyes hooded and with a strange, almost pained, expression on his face.

"Yes," he said quietly. "It was very tragic. Nobody should die alone." There was something in his voice that caused Amy to look up as he reached out a hand and gently wiped away the tears. Amy froze as she felt the gentle brush of Pendergast's fingers on her cheek. She dared not breathe for fear of breaking the spell that seemed to have fallen. The two stood facing each other for a long moment.

"Forgive me Sir…Miss," Maurice had quietly entered the library. "Dinner is served."

The spell was broken. Amy tried to smile as she used her hands to wipe her face. "Shall we," Pendergast asked as he held the library door open for Amy and then led the way down the hall.


	15. Chapter 15

Dinner, although delicious was quiet with Amy still thinking about the young woman who gave so much and received nothing in return. Pendergast too seemed to be lost in thought.

Finally Amy spoke up. "Those women…The Virgins of New Orleans, were, in fact, virgins. Our victims were all examined…," she trailed off.

"Could it be," Pendergast picked up the thought, "that they were killed because they were not virgins."

Amy was nodding. "So is somebody trying to recreate what Georgiana had done? I am not aware of any philanthropic activities carried out by young women who are or who claim to be virgins. Maybe that means that somebody is trying to recreate," she paused, '…recreate what?"

Pendergast shook his head. "We will not solve this today," he said gently. "You are hurt and exhausted. You need some sleep." Amy wanted to argue..she wanted to continue to push for a solution, but she realized that she could barely keep her eyes open and that even moving was taking every ounce of effort that she could muster.

Without quite realizing what was happening, Amy let Pendergast take her arm and lead her up the stairs. They stopped in front of her room. He opened the door for her. Again they stood facing each other. Amy lifted her hand to gently touch Pendergast's face and he captured the hand, kissing it gently and slowly releasing it. "Good night, Ameline," he said quietly before turning and leaving.

Amy lay awake a long time, trying to calm her thoughts. She kept thinking about Georgiana, about the Virgins of New Orleans and most of all how it felt when Pendergast had touched her face. Finally, exhaustion overtook her and she drifted off.

She slept fitfully, her dreams haunted by things she remembered, things she knew and some that came unbidden. She woke up before the sun rose. The morning smelled fresh and sweet without the humidity for which Louisiana was known. Amy sat up and flinched, still feeling the effects

Amy decided that a morning run would help loosen her up and, hopefully clear some of the cobwebs that seemed to be filling her brain that morning. She pulled on a pair of shorts and a tee shirt, laced up the running shoes that she always packed when traveling, and walked down the stairs. Maurice walked out of the kitchen wiping his hands and Amy waived at him. "May I help you, Miss?" he asked.

"Just going for a little run, Maurice," Amy replied lightly.

"Running? Running from what, Miss?" Maurice asked.

Amy could not help suppress a giggle. "Just running, Maurice. For exercise."

"Even as you say, Miss," Maurice murmerred non-commitally and Amy thought with amusement, something akin to disapproval. "Breakfast will be at eight am, Miss. Will you be joining Master Aloysius?"

"Yes. Maurice.," Amy replied. "I will be glad to join Master Aloysius."

Amy walked out onto the porch and inhaled the fresh, cool air. She set off toward the gate at an easy jog. She was debating if she would run down the road or make a tour of the Penumbera property by tracing all the winding pathways. She decided to do a little bit of both. She would run down the road a bit to reallywork out the kinks, then return and make a leisurely tour of the plantation; that would get her home and showered before eight AM for breakfast.

Amy sped up her run, she was going to push herself while she could and then take it easy on the way back. She heard a car behind her and moved further to side to let it pass, but it stayed behind her. May ran on for a few more minutes thinking that the driver was waiting for a good opportunity to pass. When the car remained behind her, she began to get nervous. As far as she could tell, she was still running parallel to Penumbera property. There was an unbroken wooden fence along the property. It was only waist high, but behind the fence were high bushes and trees. She would not be able to get through the undergrowth even if she tried.

Amy's heart was beating hard now and not just from the exertion of her run. She scanned ahead and saw what she had been looking for – a break in the growth. She continued her run and, at the last minute vaulted over the fence. She had hoped to land on even ground, but there was a slight incline and her feet slipped out under her, twisting her ankle. She cried out and cursed her stupidity, but continued to run, gritting her teeth in pain. She had hoped that the car would keep going, but instead she heard the tires screech as the car made a tight turn.

The crash that he heard next caused her to turn around and she gasped as she saw the car crash through the fence and rolled down the embankment. Shaking off the shock, Any turned and ran as the car crashed through behind her. Mercifully, the old vehicle was no match for the uneven ground and in a few minutes, she heard a grating sound as the car came to a halt. She continued to run, but her ankle was slowing her down. She heard the door slam and heard another person crashing through the growth after her.

Amy was headed back to the house, hoping that she would be able to attract attention. She focused on watching where she was going so as not to trip. However, it was her ankle that betrayed her; as it gave way, causing her to fall. Swearting, Amy got up again, but she had lost her advantage and the person chasing her – she now saw that it was man was on top of her. She saw that he was brandishing something and realized that it was a large knife.

Recalling her training, Amy wrestled with the man, actually kicking him off her. She was trying to stand up and fight back, when the man came charging at her again. That's when she heard the retort of a gun, saw the man hesitate momentarily, before falling in a heap a few feet away from her.

Amy looked over her shoulder and saw Pendergast, his Les Baer still raised, approaching her. Again, he was dressed in just a shirt and pants and while his breathing seemed a bit rapid, he showed no other signs of exertion. Pendergast, approached the prone form and searched for a pulse; he looked up and shook his head, "Dead." He holstered his gun and walked to Amy. Offering her his hand, he helped her stand, supporting her for a few moments in what could almost be called an embrace.

Amy was trying to regain her breath and her composure. Through gasps or air, she managed to ask, "How?" How had he known where she was? How had he known that she needed help? Pendergast just smiled a slight enigmatic smile and helped her up.

Amy felt the strong arms around her...she wanted nothing so much as to stay there to be kept safe. She felt the heat of Pendergast's body through her thin tee shirt and it began to stir things deep within her, causing her breath to catch in her throat. She wanted the feeling to go on forever.

Pendergast had woken up early and was already in the dining room enjoying an early cup of coffee when he heard Amy's exchange with Maurice. He had walked out on the porch and watched her run, marveling at the graceful and light gait as she ran toward the road. He was still standing there when he heard the crash. Grabbing his side arm, he ran toward the sounds. He had arrived just in time to see the man raise his knife and charge. With no conscious thought, he raised his gun and fired. He had no doubt that he had intended to kill the man. Now he had the young woman in his arms and it surprised him at just how right it felt for her to be there. He found himself holding his breath, hoping to extend the moment. But eventually Amy shifted her weight and looked up at him, her green eyes full of curiosity...and...maybe something else.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

Breathing normally now, Amy replied. "I think so. I twisted my ankle, but its better now that I am waling on it." After a moment...,""What in the hell was that all about?" Pendergast just shook his head. "Is this related to...?" Again Pendergast just shrugged

"I do not know. We need to call the Sheriff." Amy winced at the memory of the man, but knew that Pendergast was correct.

By the time she had showerd and taken an aspirin for her sore ankle, several deputies from the Sheriff's were in the Sitting Room with Pendergast. They had coffee and their notepads open, but seemed to be wrapping up.

"Thank you, Agent Pendergast," the one whose name tag said "Bailey," told the other man. "I think we have all that we need. In fact you have done us a service. We've been after that perp – his name was Garrison - for a while now. He is," a pause, "he was a transient with a drug problem. The car was stolen. He was probably going to try to sell it for drug money."

Amy had been listening. "But why did he try to get to me?" She asked.

Bailey just shook his head, "I've know idea Miss..,"

"Agent," Amy corrected him tartly.

"Agent," Bailey said, "I've no idea why he would be after you. Who know's what drug addicts do and why." Amy had to agree with this assessment.

"One more question, if I might, Deputy Bailey," Pendergast's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Who did the car belong to."

Bailey checked his notes. "I'm not sure why you would care, but it belongs to Grayson DuBois. He reported it stolen yesterday."

It was a good thing that the Deputy still had his nose in his notebook and missed the look that Amy and Pendergast exchanged.


	16. Chapter 16

"That slimy son of a bitch," Amy raged. "I knew it. I knew he was involved. I knew that arrogant bastard had something to do with hurting those girls." She stopped just long to draw a breath and looked at Pendergast whose eyes were hooded with thoughts of his own. "You know , I'm right," she continued. "We need to get him...get him before he hurts anybody else...he is laughing at us, Aloysius."

Amy pushed herself off the couch, oblivious to the pain still emanating from her ankle. "What are we waiting for?" She asked. "Lets go."

"No." The word was quietly spoken, but it had the force to stop Amy in her tracks. She slowly turned to look at Pendergast who had not moved. Pendergast saw true anger in those deep green eyes, but kept his own expression mild. "We have no evidence," he said evenly. "The car could, in fact, have been stolen as DuBois told the Deputy. Without any proof to the contrary, he could accuse us of harassment at the very least. At worst, we tip our hand to him before we are ready," he continued looking at Amy, willing her to think about her position. "You are a federal agent, Ameline," he said gently. "Think this through."

Amy was ready to fight Pendergast on this. She opened her mouth to argue, but shut is as her common sense overcame her initial emotion."I...," she started, and again went silent. She swore viciously in Cajun again, and then took a deep breath. She knew that Dubois was somehow connected to the dead girls and it galled her that she could not make a connection strong enough to justify an arrest. She also knew that Pendergast was right. She closed her eyes briefly and fought for control. "You are right, Aloysius," she said softly. "I want him to be guilty so badly, I am jumping at shadows and using wishful thinking instead of my training. I am sorry Agent Pendergast," she said formally.

"No need to apologize," Pendergast's voice was gentle as he put a comforting hand on Amy's shoulder. "I understand and I feel as you do." Something in his voice caught Amy's attention and she looked up into his eyes. "I know how it is to want something so much that nothing else seems to matter," he said quietly not shying away from that intense emerald gaze. Amy's heart raced and her mouth went dry; she did not want to look away, but the intensity in those pale silver eyes was too much and she glanced down.

The moment had passed. With another deep breath, Amy asked, "So what do we do now?"

Pendergast shook himself slightly. "We do what we had originally planned. We go step by step." He again looked at the other agent, and his face broke into a rare, slight smile, "It's almost lunch time, I am famished, and I happen to know that Antoine's serves a lovely Jambalaya."

Amy looked around the restaurant warily. The quiet cadence of conversation and the clanking of silverware and crystal formed a background buzz that Amy found unnerving and it set her teeth on edge. Something was setting her teeth on edge. She tried telling her that it was only memories of what happened to Pendergast that were grating on her, but deep down she knew it was not true.

The plump Maitre 'd huffed up to them. "Monsieur Pendergast," he spoke with an exaggerated French accent, "It is good to see you again. I hope that you have recovered fully."

"Yes," Amy thought drily, "wouldn't do to have another scene at the restaurant.

"Thank you, Paul," Pendergast replied without skipping a beat, "I am quite well." The briefest of pauses. "Is my usual table available?"

"But of course, Monsier," Paul simpered, "but a moment if you please."

It was closer to five minutes, but then Paul personally escorted them to the table. He pulled out the chair for Amy and then for Pendergast. And that's when it hit Amy with the weight of a ton of bricks. She knew what had seemed off.

"Aloysius," her voice was soft by urgent. Pendergast looked up. "Last time we were here, you were seated first."

"That was a lapse on the part of the Maitre d," Pendergast said absently. "He was new".

"Oh I don't care about that," Amy hissed. Look around you. What do you see?" Pendergast picked up his water glass and used the time it took to sip water to look around. The water stopped half way to his lips. How could he have missed it? He nodded, understanding. Pendergast had been frequenting restaurants such as Antoine's for many years – so much so, that he took many things for granted. Things like the fact that the woman was always seated first and on the left of the gentleman. Except...

"...Except," Pendergast took up speaking, "..Excepth that night," he said, "I was seated first and was seated on the left." He paused a moment, letting the ramifications of the realization sink in, "I was seated where, under any other circumstances, you would have been sitting, Ameline."

The salad had been served and Amy picked at it, no longer hungry. "So...," she stretched out the word as she was thinking, "..somebody knew that you would be seated where you were and placed the glass where you'd get it...or.,..," she paused as the realization hit her.

"...or," Pendergast finished the sentence that Amy could not,"...the poison was placed there with the expectation that my companion...," he too paused for a moment, "...that you would be sitting there."

**Author's Note:**

> I am a fan of the series in general and Agent Pendergast in particular. Its my first Pendergast FanFiction so please review.


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